Royal Matchmaking
by MiaRoseT
Summary: (Reign Modern AU) Mary Stuart is the daughter of the Queen of Scotland, the 'second born', with an older brother who is the heir to the throne. In a desperate attempt to bring positive publicity to the Scottish royal family, Mary's parents seek to arrange her marriage to a 'suitable husband', and they agree to allow the dating process to be made into a television show...
1. Chapter 1

**Notes/Disclaimer:** The first chapter of this fan-fiction kind of came about through an idea I had about writing about a story focusing on a royally-arranged marriage in modern times, and also through wanting to write something based on the characters of the television series, Reign. I started writing it as an original story but then I really felt like it could fit in with the characters of Reign and some of its romantic pairings, especially Mary and Francis.

The story is set in a modern AU (or an alternate 'verse), with Francis and Mary still having their connections to French and Scottish royalty, respectively. The characters are all based on the Reign characters, although aspects of their personalities, several romantic pairings and their roles/connections to others may change.

There will be some Mary/Bash and Lola/Narcisse along the way.

I thought I would try it out anyway and see if it works. :) More about the political situations, backstory and matchmaking process will be revealed as the chapters go on.

* * *

 **Royal Matchmaking**

* * *

"Your Highness?"

For the past couple of minutes, Francis Valois had been staring out the window of his family's private jet, attempting to catch a glimpse of the country of Scotland as the plane glided smoothly through the dark, almost cloudless sky. For a moment, he'd been certain he could make out the outline of a castle on the ground below, before those two words from one of the plane's air stewardesses had distracted him.

Slowly, he turned his head away from the window, unsure as to whether he felt relieved at no longer having to observe the country beneath the plane-a country that felt increasingly unknown, unreadable, mysterious to him with each passing moment, in spite of several official visits to Scotland in the past, or whether he actually felt reluctant to be turning away.

"We'll be landing soon," the air stewardess informed him with a friendly smile the moment he turned to look at her, as she leaned down a little to address him. Her voice with its French accent sounded kind and gentle, but unfortunately not reassuring enough to calm his nerves.

She was dressed in a dark blue uniform, with a white shirt underneath her blue jacket, and a red scarf fastened around her neck. _The colours of France_ , he thought absently to himself.

His father had wanted him to wear similar colours for the ceremony that would take place late tomorrow afternoon, just in case anyone was in any doubt as to who would _truly_ be in charge of the upcoming proceedings, but Francis had already refused, opting instead to wear black clothes tomorrow. He felt that this would be more fitting to the occasion.

Besides, there were times when France itself felt almost as unfamiliar to him as Scotland did, after so many years spent in London before he had to return to his 'home' country on a permanent basis. He was still getting used to the place, and now there would be a whole new country to consider. He wasn't sure he felt ready yet, to throw on the French colours and act as its main representative.

"Thank you," Francis responded politely to the air stewardess, trying his best to smile back at her before she walked away to speak to his father, who was currently barking orders at other staff members travelling on the royal private jet, between his usual hacking coughs. Unlike certain family members of his, Francis always tried to be kind to their staff. He knew all too well how tedious it was to deal with bad-tempered royals.

As the plane began its slow descent, he felt his stomach give a lurch that had nothing to do with the change in cabin pressure, or the ever-increasing dread of facing the cameras, the journalists, the all-too-personal questions…

Soon, he would see her again. She would be there, in that small but beautiful country below, most likely in the castle that he still imagined he could see from the plane's window…

Perhaps the thought of getting to see her again was the only good thing about this mess that his father had got him into. But then again, perhaps that was the worst thing about it.

He couldn't help all the troubled thoughts and questions that instantly came to his mind: Did she hate him now? She'd seemed rather indifferent to him for a long time as they'd grown up, but perhaps those feelings of indifference had grown into a strong dislike, especially after what happened a couple of years ago…

Would she remember any of it? That night at the palace in France? Or had she pushed those thoughts to the back of her mind? Had she tried to forget the noise, the fear, the terror, the confusion, the same way he always did? Did she blame him for what happened?

"Cheer up, Francis!" his father snapped at him from across the aisle, abruptly interrupting his dark thoughts. He glared at Francis with folded arms, a commanding figure in his elegant suit, with his closely-cropped dark hair. Everything about his appearance was a contrast to Francis's, who was currently brushing a stray strand of wavy blond hair away from _his_ eyes-try as they might, the palace hairdressers had never really succeeded in making his hair look neat and tidy.

People sometimes commented that Francis looked more like his mother.

And then there was the sneer that seemed to be a permanent fixture on his father's face these days.

"The last thing we need," his father continued to snap at him, "is for the press to take pictures of you looking miserable the moment we arrive in Scotland!"

Francis couldn't help glaring back at his father. He'd always aspired to be a kind person-a tolerant _king_ , one day, but the current king of France was enough to test anyone's patience, as most of his subjects would probably attest to.

He was sourly tempted to start sulking like the teenager he still was (just about, anyway), to insist that he had nothing to be cheerful about; that no part of this had been his choice; that all of it was for his father's benefit; that no good could come of this. But he knew it would be pointless. His father wouldn't care.

He couldn't help thinking about his younger brothers, Charles and Henri, and he wished that they could have come along with him on this strange adventure instead of having to stay at home in France. It was so much easier, when he could be the protective older brother, when he had people to take care of, something to distract him. Right now, in spite of his father's not-always-welcome presence, he felt terribly alone.

"Most princes would consider something like this to be beneath them," he chose to say to his father instead through gritted teeth.

"Nonsense!" his father retorted with a dismissive wave of his hand. "You're doing your _duty_ , like all the others before you. Never forget that."

This is what his father and his advisers had told him over and over: that he was doing his duty; doing them all a favour; that this alliance would be of great benefit to his country.

"Anyway," his father continued with a sneer, "I don't know what _you_ have to complain about. _You're_ about to get _everything_ you ever wanted…"

Francis felt his grip tighten on the armrest of his seat as his father finished his sentence with a significant glance in his direction, as though he could see into his mind and read his most secret thoughts-or worse, as though he could see into his heart. The one part of himself that he truly had to keep guarded, as the heir to the throne of a country that would always require so much of him. The one part of himself that he wasn't even sure he was ready to share. Right now, he wasn't sure if he would ever be ready.

Is _this what you want_? he asked himself as the plane continued to bring him closer to Scottish soil, carrying him towards the ground before he'd made any conscious decision to move, like fate was bringing him here much faster than he desired, in the same way that it had brought him back towards the French throne not so long ago.

For a moment, his mind was full of images of _her_ , standing opposite him under the tree in the clearing in the French countryside when they were children, spinning around over and over in a circle in the middle of the castle ballroom ten years later as the music played, with an almost mischievous grin on her face, her long, dark hair flowing around her as she moved, her hands held high above her head almost in a gesture of victory as she smiled; so free, so beautiful, almost like a bird in flight…

 _You're about to get everything you ever wanted…_

But then he thought about everything else:

He thought about his mother, blinking back tears as she hugged him just before he boarded the plane, almost as though he would no longer be the same person when he returned to her. As though she was about to lose him, somehow.

Then he thought about Olivia, sobbing, begging him to reconsider, asking him not to sign up for this, telling him to find a way to back out, in the hope that they could be together again.

And again, his thoughts drifted back to everything that had happened in the past, that moment of shared history with the girl from the castle in Scotland.

He thought about how this whole thing had been fixed, negotiated, stage-managed, entirely beyond their control. He thought about how she probably hated him, how she would hate him even more after the show tomorrow afternoon. He thought about how neither of them had had any real choice in this. He thought about what she would think when she saw him in her country and she finally realised what her family had got her into.

Bizarrely, he thought about the chandelier in the ballroom, how it had crashed to the ground that night as his whole world shattered all around him, with only her to hold onto. He felt that same feeling right now.

"She is what you want, isn't she?" his father asked him with another sneer, as though this very idea was incomprehensible to him.

Francis glared at his father again before he spoke.

"Not like this."

* * *

The river was surprisingly still this morning.

Mary Stuart stared at her reflection in its waters, taking in her long, dark hair, her brown eyes, her olive skin. And then she saw her furrowed brow, her expression that was so full of anger, her barely-disguised fear that kept threatening to push its way to the surface…

With a sigh of exasperation, she smacked her hand into the water, causing it to ripple almost violently.

"How can a teenage girl's parents _possibly_ know who would make the best husband for their daughter?!" she demanded.

She'd aimed the question at her older brother, James, who was sitting beside her on the river bank, although she wasn't sure if she truly expected him to answer. He hardly ever answered her when she launched into this rant. James had agreed to sneak out of the castle with her this morning, the way they had both done ever since they were children, but that was often as far as his acts of rebellion went these days.

As the eldest of the two of them, three years older than her, and the 'precious first-born', James was the heir to the country's throne, and so would be king of Scotland one day. He took his duty as heir to the throne very seriously-more so with each passing year, Mary had noted-and he often expected the rest of the Scottish royal family to do the same.

She suspected that he'd only accompanied her on her walk this morning because he'd sensed her ever-growing tension within the walls of the castle, and he'd probably hoped she'd be less likely to fall into a sense of anger or panic or despair if she could just get away for a little while.

"I mean," she went on, when James continued to sit in silence, staring at his own reflection in the water, probably looking at his hair that was so like their father's, who he was named after, and his eyes that were so like their mother's, "this arranged marriage idea is _ridiculous_! How could my parents _ever_ understand what's in my heart? How could they know who I could be attracted to, who I could fall in love with? Do they _seriously_ think I'll end up with this man who they're going to introduce me to later?"

Mary wasn't sure she even understood much about love herself, as she wasn't exactly experienced in matters of the heart, but right now, that was beside the point. "And, to make matters worse, the whole process will be broadcast on _television_ , James!"

She shuddered as she finished her sentence, thinking about how that was probably the worst part about it. Her mother might have thought it was a good idea, to allow the cameras into their lives to document the matchmaking process that would hopefully lead to her second-born daughter's marriage, but that didn't mean that Mary herself felt any sort faith in the process, or happiness at the thought of being the 'star' of a television show, even though the whole country was apparently 'very enthusiastic' at the idea of getting to see more of the royal family-according to her mother, anyway.

She felt increasingly anxious every time she thought about the fact that it had been left up to her _mother and father_ to find her a suitable husband, as well as giving the rest of the country an insight into how royals dealt with marriage negotiations, while the cameras filmed it all as part of their show. Then there would be all the magazine interviews that she would be expected to give, and 'couples photo shoots', and other television appearances with her 'new boyfriend'…

"Our parents understand wise political decisions, Mary," her brother finally chose to say as a response, with a sad sense of finality in his voice.

Mary could easily read between the lines of what he was saying: this whole process wasn't about falling in love, or understanding what was in her heart-it was about finding her a match who would help to bring a little political stability to their small country; it was about encouraging positive publicity for a relatively new royal family, to make them seem more accessible to the public; it was about providing entertainment, in order to distract the country from all the protests, all the discord and dissatisfaction, all the calls to rid the country of the monarchy entirely.

She'd heard all of this before, of course, from her mother, and her father, and all of the palace advisers, over and over since her sixteenth birthday two years ago, when they'd all persuaded her to agree to allow her parents to find her a suitable match, and to allow the cameras to film it all.

"Yes, well, it's all right for you," Mary told her brother with a sigh, unable to keep the hint of resentment out of her voice. She had never envied his position before, but right now, _anything_ seemed preferable to _this_. " _You_ don't have to go through any of the humiliation that I'm about to be subjected to."

As the first-born, James's matchmaking process was considered _far_ too delicate and important to be documented on a television show. His future marriage had been negotiated and decided upon in private. He was engaged to be married to 'Lady Kenna', as she always insisted on calling herself, the teenage daughter of an old British noble family.

As the second-born, the expectations of Mary from her family and the public were a lot lower (not that anyone would admit this out loud). As long as she showed up to royal events wearing pretty dresses and behaved herself and said all the right things in the few interviews she was required to give, they seemed to be satisfied that she was doing her duty. And now, they expected her to show up to this particular show in a pretty dress, to allow her 'romance' to be played out on screen for them all while she had to act happy and grateful and say all the right things in her interviews, before she married a pretty husband for their entertainment. Or so her parents hoped, anyway.

"Do you _really_ believe I got the better deal?" James asked her, and for a second, Mary could hear the hint of resentment, and bitterness, in his own voice; she could see the flicker of rebellion on his face that she used to see so often when they were children.

But then, the look was gone, and he was serious, solemn again, his face a picture of duty and responsibility, which made her wonder if she'd only imagined his look of distaste in the first place.

"Everyone has to make sacrifices, Mary," he muttered, using another line she'd heard so many times before. "This is the responsibility that goes with the privilege."

Mary sighed at his words. Of course, he was right, in part. They were lucky, in many ways, especially as they had only been named as the Scottish royal family fairly recently through a mix of chance, and the good fortune of having an old royal connection to Scotland in their family tree, along with a recent change in political circumstances. Most people seemed to envy their lifestyles, and their so-called privileged position. And, with all great privilege came great sacrifice. According to James, anyway.

And yet, this attempt at rationalisation did nothing to ease her fears of inviting the media into her life, of giving away her heart to the cameras.

"Are you ready?" James asked her as he stood up, abruptly turning his head away from the water and taking a few steps back from the river, almost as though he couldn't stand to look at his reflection right now.

More than ever, Mary missed the younger James of her childhood, the one who'd laughed at the stuck-up royals along with her; the one who would have once been horrified at their parents' attempt to arrange her future marriage; the one who would have run away from the castle with her without a second thought.

 _I'll never be ready_ , Mary suddenly wished she could say out loud, but instead she simply pushed herself reluctantly up to her feet, making sure to pull the hood of her jacket up, partially disguising her hair and face before they started to head back the way they came.

Even in disguise they were putting themselves in danger by doing this-their status as royals meant that they were constant targets for threats and kidnapping plots. There might have been undercover castle guards stationed all over the village closest to the castle, but still, they were taking a risk, and they both knew it. With another sigh, she thought about how it was only a matter of time before James tried to put a stop to this completely and insisted that they abandon any future attempts to sneak out just the two of them.

As she walked as slowly as possible towards the local village that would take her and her brother to the path leading towards the castle, Mary tried to take in all of her surroundings-the sights, the smells, the sounds of rural Scotland around her, almost as though she were seeing all of it for the last time, even though that idea was ludicrous.

She trod on all of the damp blades of grass, brushed her hands against the bark of trees, brushed her fingertips against the flowers, and she breathed in the cold, damp air. Wherever she went, she always tried to memorise her surroundings, so that she could attempt to interpret her experiences on paper later on, through her paintings and sketches. She hoped that she would still have time for all that, once the show had started.

As she walked, with that inner feeling of dread mounting with every step, she couldn't help hoping, wishing, that her parents would somehow have been tricked into setting her up with someone who would turn out _not_ to be of noble birth after all-someone who lived a normal life, whatever a 'normal life' was; someone who would understand just how much she hated the idea of the whole matchmaking process; someone who would allow her her freedom; someone who wouldn't be too upset if she withdrew from the show altogether, or refused to get married at all, by the time they reached the end of the programme; someone who could perhaps help her with her escape.

For months, she'd secretly been formulating her 'escape plan'-coming up with all the ways that she could use to get out of this process while seeming to play along; all the ways she could avoid a marriage altogether, in the end. As the opening ceremony drew ever closer, however, all of the imaginary escape routes in her mind seemed to be closing themselves off.

And then she felt a twist of guilt, to even be having these thoughts in the first place. Her mother was counting on her to do her duty; her parents had probably both tried their best to set her up with someone who she could at least get along with, and they would never set her up with anyone who was powerful or controlling enough to pose a genuine threat to _their_ power, after all...and all she could think about was betraying them.

* * *

When they finally arrived in the small village close to the castle, Mary focused on the crowds of people.

There were several groups of young people who looked to be about her age, talking and gossiping as though they didn't have a care in the world. Perhaps some of them would watch her on television later, relaxing and talking and laughing together about the events playing out on screen, most of them secretly glad that _they_ could choose to go out with whoever they wanted and would never have to go through the same public process.

It would be so much easier, she thought, if _her_ love life wasn't currently being treated like some sort of national event.

She couldn't help shuddering as she overheard a bit of gossip from a group of people standing outside the village pub about a royal family arriving in Scotland last night. She walked quickly on, feeling no desire whatsoever to know _which_ royal family was apparently in the country at the moment.

There were lots of couples in the village square, too, walking hand-in-hand or sitting close together on benches outside shops. She couldn't help but wonder what it would be like, to meet someone and fall in love, to go through all of the usual rites of passage of first dates and blossoming romances. She had no experience with any of this, and yet she would somehow have to do all of that on camera later. She would have to meet the man her parents expected her to marry for the first time ever in a makeshift television studio while the whole country had the opportunity to see her reaction first-hand.

There was an elderly couple sitting close together on a bench outside the local book shop, the two of them holding hands, looking like they had been together for years, like their love had stood the test of time.

As she stared at them, Mary suddenly felt a rush of sadness, of jealousy, almost. Quickly, she turned her head away from the elderly couple and forced herself to keep walking.

The next bench along was littered with discarded newspapers. At a glance, she could see from the headlines that there had been several arrests at an anti-royal protest close to Edinburgh yesterday. Another paper revealed that the police were searching for members of so-called anti-patriotic groups who had been secretly meeting all over the country.

Mary sighed, wondering _how_ her mother could possibly think that one television show would ever distract the country from all its problems.

Suddenly, her eyes were drawn to a group of people dressed all in black with tattoos on their arms. She'd noticed tattoos on people's arms so often lately during her secret 'excursions' out of the castle.

All of the tattoos were strikingly similar-they depicted what appeared to be a bird in flight. Every time she saw those tattoos, she was overcome with a burning curiosity to find out what they meant, what they symbolised; she wanted to find out who these mysterious people dressed in black were.

Mary had tried to conduct a little research of her own into the meaning of the tattoos, consulting the old books in the castle's library and searching through the royal archives, and even asking some of her tutors, but so far, she hadn't been able to come up with much. The most she'd been able to put together was the theory that the bird was perhaps an old Celtic symbol, now used as a lesser-known emblem of Scotland, although she suspected that there was more to it than that.

She was so distracted staring at the tattoos that for a moment, she didn't realise that a young man who had been standing close to the group was watching her as she passed.

But then she looked up, right at the man, and she saw that he had dark brown hair and striking, beautiful blue eyes. Her heart gave a little jolt as she remembered that she'd already passed this same young man a few times lately, here in this village and on its outskirts. She'd remember those eyes anywhere. Every time, she'd tried to glance discreetly at him from underneath the hood of her rain coat, pulling her makeshift disguise to one side a little as she attempted to pass him slowly so that she could get a good look at him. She always felt like she never had enough time to stop and stare.

This time, as soon as she caught his eye, he smirked and winked at her.

Startled, Mary didn't react for a moment, but then she felt a smile creep slowly to her face. Up close, she noticed that he was wearing a leather jacket, his clothes somehow casual and smart at the same time, and there was a ring on his middle finger. The ring was only plain, brown in colour, and it looked like it had been carved out of wood-it was nowhere near as elegant as the jewels that the people in the castle often wore, but there was something beautiful in its simplicity.

He walked almost with a swagger, with something challenging in his step. He was just the sort of boy who she would have been drawn to, when she'd been a rebellious young teenager studying at a strict London boarding school a few years ago.

The young man smiled back at her and he seemed to look her up and down for a few moments, before he turned and walked in the opposite direction. There was also a real purpose in his step, like he had somewhere to be, like he knew exactly where he was going.

Unintentionally, Mary pressed her index finger to her lips, almost as though the stranger had actually left a kiss there. She was overcome with a desire to giggle, just like the young girls she always passed in local towns and villages.

As she kept on walking, Mary knew that she was still grinning. She allowed herself some time to just enjoy the moment, to think about the fact that the boy with the blue eyes had looked at her like that-like she was just an ordinary girl who had made him smirk and wink. Perhaps this was how people felt, when they flirted with someone for the very first time, or when somebody finally noticed them.

James, who had kept his distance from her for most of the walk home, suddenly reappeared at her side. He looked over his shoulder and stared at the blue-eyed boy's retreating back with an expression that seemed to be a mixture of curiosity and concern.

"He is very handsome," Mary couldn't help telling her older brother. Things like this never happened to her within the castle walls, and she just needed to tell _someone_. As she finished her sentence, she felt a pang of loss, even though she'd just lost something that she'd never really had in the first place; something she was never meant to have.

She knew she shouldn't be doing this, not now. She wasn't allowed to do this. She chanced a glance at her brother, and she couldn't help noticing the look of sadness written all over _his_ face. Or perhaps it was a look of pity. He seemed to allow himself one last sigh before his face was the picture of duty again.

They both stopped underneath the crooked signpost just outside the village, with its many arrows pointing in different directions.

For a few moments, Mary glanced longingly towards the path that was headed in the opposite direction from where she was expected to go, towards the forest. The group of people with their tattoos had just started walking down that path, all of them whispering to one another as though they were in on some kind of secret.

She wondered what it would be like to just take off after them, to leave her life as the second-born daughter of a queen behind and follow the group into the darkness of the forest, to find out what the big secret was. To run away. To escape.

"Mary..."

The sound of her brother's voice pulled her out of her thoughts. He might have said her name softly, but still she picked up on the firmness in his tone, in his eyes. A reminder of her duties. Perhaps even a warning not to run.

With one last longing glance at the tattoos of the birds in flight, she followed James down the path that would lead them both back to the castle.


	2. Chapter 2

Her bedroom in the castle was just as she'd left it.

Mary wasn't sure why this surprised her so much-maybe it was because lately she felt as though every single aspect of her life was about to change, or maybe it was because the thought had crossed her mind, when she'd noticed a map of the world displayed in a meeting room on the first floor of the castle, not long after she'd arrived home from her walk with James, that her parents might have chosen to set her up with someone who was not in fact from Scotland, and she could therefore have to spend time far away from the castle as part of the television show.

She wasn't sure why this thought had never occurred to her before. She worried that there were other things she'd missed about this matchmaking process in her naiveté, and she felt yet another flicker of fear that there would be more nasty surprises waiting for her just around the corner as she embarked upon this strange journey.

Much of her room was decorated in bright red-the walls, the carpets, the red lion print sewn into the golden covers on her four poster bed, depicting a Scottish emblem, along with the curtains surrounding it, as well as several pillows and cushions.

There were also a few weak flames dancing in the fireplace, and a fresh bunch of roses had been displayed in a vase on a bedside table, along with a tray holding golden cups and a red teapot, placed on a little wooden table in the centre of the room, all of which the staff must have taken care of at some point during the morning.

She felt a rush of fondness for the staff who worked in the castle, and all they did to help her and make her feel more comfortable. For all that she complained about life in the castle, and all the scheming and politics that went on within its walls, she had to admit that James did have a point sometimes, when he went on about the perks that came with being a member of a royal family.

Usually, this room was a place where she could find peace. It was one of the few rooms in the castle where visitors and tourists were not allowed to go; one of the places where meetings and negotiations between royals and politicians and diplomats could not take place. This room felt like it was truly hers, and it had become a sanctuary of sorts to her over the years.

Yet today, not even her room could calm her nerves.

Trying to ignore the feeling of tightness in her chest, Mary walked slowly around the large room, taking it all in, the way she had done earlier when she'd been outside, walking through the Scottish countryside.

She glanced in the direction of the right-hand side of the room, where several remnants of her childhood remained, in the form of a toy unicorn that her brother had used his pocket money to buy for her from a gift shop in Edinburgh when they were younger, and a patchwork quilt that she and James had helped to sew when they were children, with the help of several of the castle's full-time nannies, the two of them working together to sew up all the pieces.

A part of her was tempted to grab the blanket from its place on a wooden rocking chair and wrap it tightly around herself; to hide away like a child so she wouldn't have to face the world today. But she knew that the blanket wouldn't really be able to protect her.

There was also the Victorian-style doll's house in the same corner of the room: an old family heirloom that her mother had allowed her to have as a child. The doll's house was one of Mary's most prized possessions, and she had spent many a happy hour throughout her childhood playing with the miniature dolls that she knew were still inside the house now: a mother, a father and their two children-a boy and a girl.

She had loved that little doll family, and had often imagined the happy, normal life they lived in the wooden house as she played her childhood games with them. Now, she felt it would be rather childish and ridiculous to open up the doll's house again to stare longingly at that carefully crafted image of a happy family. Especially on a day like today.

Next, she walked past the bookcase on the left-hand side of her room, running her hands along the spines of all the classic books she'd read and collected over the years since she was younger. For a few moments, her hand rested on a copy of _Pride and Prejudice_ , one of her favourite stories.

Then she couldn't help smirking to herself as she pulled out the collections of more 'modern' romance novels that she'd also stacked on the shelves, placing them between the classics. They were the kind of novels that the nuns who taught at her boarding school would have labelled as 'trash', and Mary therefore felt a twisted sense of pride at displaying them on her bookshelves. The books contained stories of high school dramas and first-love romances, complete with a pile of books about teenage girls falling for stereotypical 'bad boys'.

Mary allowed herself a brief pause to look out through the windows of her balcony doors at the castle gardens and grounds, with their fountains, flowerbeds, neatly-trimmed hedges and freshly mown grass, all of which led towards the more untamed trees in the distance.

Not for the first time, Mary felt appreciative of the fact that her parents had chosen to set up home in the more peaceful and tranquil Scottish Highlands, rather than right in the middle of a busy city. They did own royal property in Edinburgh, where they went to stay when work and duty required it, but for the most part, this castle was their more permanent residence. She knew her mother believed that the rural location was more secure: _"Hidden from the view of rebellious eyes!"_ as she often said.

She was tempted to take a few minutes to go and stand on the balcony, so she could be outside again for a little while, but true to Scottish form, it had started to rain; a few droplets had already started to gather on the glass outside the doors. Her mother would get angry, if she arrived at her makeshift 'dressing room' with soaking wet hair.

After a few more moments of staring out of the windows, Mary headed over towards the desk positioned against the far wall of her room.

Above the desk, there were yet more bookshelves displaying textbooks about history, politics and French language. They had been Mary's favourite subjects at school in London, and she'd always surprised the strict nuns who ran the school when she was consistently awarded top marks in these subjects, as she suspected that most of the teachers had secretly considered her to be rather silly and immature.

Although she had relied on the tutors who were employed by the royal family to assist with her education since she had returned to Scotland two years ago, Mary was still reluctant to part with these school books, just in case she should ever need them one day. She had trouble letting go sometimes.

Mary had placed her laptop right in the middle of her desk, and if anyone cared to try to break into the files she'd tried her best to encrypt, they would possibly find all the documents containing sample speeches she'd typed out over the years in the relative privacy of her room, away from curious eyes, on the days when she'd been feeling particularly resentful about her place in the royal family and the situation in Scotland.

There were speeches written in favour of so-called royal rebels; attempts to negotiate with those who had not agreed with the reinstatement of a royal family in Sctoland; proposals as to what they could all do to prevent further riots and violent protests. There were also documents she'd created where she'd made plans to balance the budget more effectively, and proposals to cut royal spending. She knew her family would be furious, if they ever found any of these documents. But then, it wasn't as though she would ever have a _real_ opportunity to say these words out loud and put her proposals into practice.

Mary knew that the afternoon's opening ceremony was drawing ever closer. She could see from the time displayed on her phone screen, with the minutes counting down at what seemed like an alarming rate, along with several 'important' messages that her mother had sent to her via her phone throughout the day, reminding her that she was expected to go to the meeting with the new Publicist her family had hired to assist her with her television appearances and interviews, and the meeting was to begin two hours before the show started, allowing her enough time for hair and makeup, too.

 _Do not be late!_ her mother had told her in her latest message.

In spite of the minutes that were rapidly ticking away, Mary had one more item that she wanted to look at first. She opened one of her desk draws and carefully took out the book she'd been searching for.

Unlike many of the other objects in her room, this book had a blue cover, with the exception of a bright red heart that Mary had determinedly drawn in the top right-hand corner. She'd purchased the book from a gift shop in the village several years ago. On the outside, it seemed rather bland and unoriginal, but the pages inside that had once been blank were now full of her own personal sketches, as well as various newspaper and magazine cuttings that she'd collected over the years.

Slowly, almost reverently, Mary turned the pages of the book, looking at all the sketches and cut-out pictures she'd put there. She smiled to herself as she stared at some of the pictures of handsome men that she'd cut out from magazines, back during her 'teenage crush' stage. Many of these boys wore leather jackets, or posed next to fancy cars or bikes, or they were covered in tattoos. They were all just the type of boy who she had been drawn to when she was younger.

She turned more of the pages, looking at a few of her own personal drawings. Some of her sketches in the book were in black-and-white, and some were in the brightest of colours. There were sketches she'd drawn of herself and James, based on memories of their childhood, and pictures of the castle and its staff members, as well as drawings of the local village and the city of Edinburgh. But mostly, the recurring theme in this book seemed to be one of love and romance.

There were many sketches of couples of all ages and backgrounds, some of them real, some of them imaginary. Whoever the couples were, they all reflected in some way Mary's ideas of a perfect romance-holding hands, talking, laughing, dancing, kissing, just enjoying being together, wherever they were in the world. She rolled her eyes as she noticed a sketch that she'd drawn of one of her mother's teenage crushes, a famous singer with long, blond hair. For all of Mary's father's flaming red hair, her mother had apparently had a liking for young men with blond hair when she'd been a teenager.

Of all the pages in the book, Mary's eyes were most drawn to a picture halfway through the pages. It was a sketch she'd drawn, depicting two children, a boy and a girl, standing under a tree in a forest, holding hands.

Every time she looked at this drawing, she felt the tug of an old memory, the slight pang of nostalgia, but she wasn't sure why exactly. She just knew that she'd seen this picture somewhere before, perhaps in an old childhood picture book, or as part of a painting displayed on a castle wall in one of the many countries she'd visited as part of her royal duties.

She was _sure_ that some image or other had once inspired her to create this picture in the first place, but she couldn't quite place it in her memory. She wasn't sure where exactly to look for the pieces of this memory, but she was determined to find them, one day. Something about the children in the drawing made her feel safe, happy, loved, and she felt almost as though she would discover all these feelings again if she could just remember where she had seen the picture before.

For now, she had left the picture in black-and-white, with a few of the finer details also left vague, in the hope that she would be able to fill in all the colours and complete the picture at some point in the future.

With one last longing look at the picture of the boy and the girl under the tree, Mary closed the book and placed it back in the desk drawer. She only shut the drawer gently, but the noise it made as it closed seemed to echo all over the silent room. She placed a tiny key in the lock and twisted it around, sealing it tight shut with a sad sense of finality.

Today was not the day for love and romance. She would have to keep that part of herself guarded, locked away, for now.

At the last minute, she placed the tiny key on a spare bit of black ribbon, and tied it around her neck like a necklace.

As she left the relative safety of her room behind, Mary made sure to only close the door softly behind her, as though making sure that this room would still be easily accessible when she returned later in the evening. She knew that there were parts of herself that she would have to hide and keep guarded as soon as the cameras started rolling, but she wasn't prepared to lose herself completely along the way.

* * *

With a sigh, she started to walk slowly down the corridor that led to the television room on the same floor, treading lightly on the dark blue carpets that were typical of the castle's hallways.

Her mother had deemed the large television room suitable for the initial meetings and preparations for the television show to take place, as there would be plenty of space for hair and makeup artists, as well as clothes racks, and chairs and tables-around which important discussions could take place.

If she hadn't been so nervous, Mary would have found it almost amusing, how she'd sat in that same television room with her brother so many times before, the two of them watching all the live royal weddings on the widescreen television, speculating as to whether the marriages had been arranged, and whether or not each marriage would work out in the long term.

They'd also watched so many reality television shows together, the two of them relaxing and eating popcorn as they viewed all the shows focusing on dating and matchmaking, like all of it was just light entertainment. And now Mary would be in exactly the same position, being watched by others through their screens. She would be their entertainment.

Mary wasn't sure why exactly she was treading so carefully over the carpets, the way she so often did when she couldn't sleep at night and she decided to take her secret walks all over the castle, trying not to get caught. Today, however, it wasn't as though she had to worry about being overheard. However quiet she was, her family would know exactly where she was anyway. She had no doubt that there were guards keeping a close eye on her, making sure she didn't run.

Besides, she was sure that the sound of the Scottish national anthem currently echoing up and down the castle's corridors from wherever it was playing would probably drown out the sound of her footsteps. She wouldn't put it past it mother to have hired a band of professional bagpipe players for the occasion, in an attempt to show today's visitors to the castle who was truly in charge.

As she got closer to the room where the meeting with her new Publicist would take place, she couldn't resist taking a forbidden peek out of one of the smaller windows that looked out onto the front entrance of the castle and the long drive leading up to it, just to see if the mysterious man she was expected to marry happened to be arriving at the castle.

She wondered what it would be like to have a group of close friends around her right now-other girls her own age. Would they have gathered around the window with her? Would they have giggled and laughed as they all gossiped about what the man who Mary was soon to meet would be like?

Mary sighed to herself. It was so difficult, given her place in the royal family, and the busy schedule that went along with it, to find true friends. Back at school, Mary had formed a close bond with her friend Greer, who had already been a prefect when Mary had first started at the London boarding school. Greer had been almost like an older sister to her, and she was one of the few girls at the school who Mary genuinely got along with. They were still friends now, but their time together was often limited, due to Mary's royal duties and Greer's new life with in Edinburgh with her soon-to-be husband and three young stepchildren.

She also couldn't help thinking about Aylee, a young girl who'd worked at the castle as part of an internship only last year. Mary had always enjoyed talking to her, as there had been something so innocent and honest about her, and she'd enjoyed having someone younger around who she could 'impart wisdom' to, after a lifetime of being seen as James's immature younger sister.

They had just started to become friends, but then there had been that terrible day when Aylee had collapsed in the castle's entrance hall. She hadn't survived. Later, they'd discovered that sweet, innocent Aylee been poisoned. It was suspected that rebels had somehow managed to poison several drinks in the castle right under all of their noses. Just when they'd been lured into a false sense of security, thinking that everything had calmed down, that things were starting to change for the better...

Mary still thought about Aylee all the time, still thought about her family, her parents…

No, she couldn't do this. Not today. It would be all too easy, to sink into panic or despair. And she couldn't afford to do that just now. Not when so many eyes would soon be upon her.

After a few moments of attempting to clear her thoughts as she continued to stare out of the dusty glass of the window, Mary's eyes were suddenly drawn to one person in particular outside. She jumped a little in shock and blinked rapidly a few times, like she couldn't believe what she was seeing.

She was certain she could see the young man with dark hair and blue eyes who she'd passed in the village earlier, walking right up the drive leading to the castle, with that same purpose in his step that she'd seen several times before.

Back in the village earlier, he might have taken a path heading in the opposite direction, but he had found his way to the castle after all.

 _What's he doing here?_ she wondered to herself as she continued to stare out the window, transfixed. _Could it be…?_

For a few seconds, Mary allowed herself to consider this wild possibility that _he_ might be the man who her parents were planning to introduce her to later, but then she reminded herself firmly that this idea was almost impossible. For all her mother liked to give speeches about equal rights in Scotland, Mary would be very surprised if her parents didn't attempt to set her up with someone who was from a wealthy background, at least, if not of noble birth. She decided that there must be another reason why this boy was here today.

With a sigh, she ran a hand slowly, almost longingly over the dirty pane of glass, imagining the princesses from her childhood stories who lived in high towers and spent their days gazing out of the tower windows, taking in the brief glimpses of freedom outside.

Then, she noticed several fancy white cars with blacked-out windows pulling into the castle gates at the end of the long drive.

Feeling a rush of curiosity as to who the cars belonged to, Mary tried to press her face even closer to the glass…

"A-hem…"

The sound of somebody pointedly clearing their throat from behind her startled her out of her thoughts and made her jump. Feeling almost guilty, Mary turned away from the window.

Behind her stood a man who looked to be in his early to mid thirties. She supposed he was handsome, with short brown hair, blue eyes and a well-trimmed beard. He was quite tall, and was dressed in a plain black shirt and trousers. He also held a clipboard in his hand, with a phone sticking out of his shirt pocket.

Judging by the way he was dressed, and the clipboard he had hold of, not to mention the fact that he was standing close to the open door of the television room, Mary guessed that this man was to be her new Publicist.

Yet there was something about the way he carried himself, with elegance and grace and a definite sense of self-importance, that almost gave Mary the impression of a man of noble birth who was simply dressing up as a Publicist and a royal staff member for the fun of it, even though this idea was a bit strange. But still, she felt almost as though _he_ expected _her_ to bow to him.

"Your Majesty," he greeted Mary with a quick bow and what looked like a mocking smirk.

Mary frowned at him in confusion. Most of the staff who were hired to work at the castle were well-trained in royal etiquette, and this man looked to be very intelligent, yet he had committed a faux pas in the way he had just addressed her. 'Majesty' was a title for kings and queens, not second-born princesses who would never even have a chance at the throne. She was surprised he didn't know that. It was the sort of error her etiquette-obsessed mother would not be impressed with.

Mary was tempted to discreetly correct him, but something about the way he continued to smirk at her seemed to suggest that he knew exactly what he was saying.

"Mary," she chose to say to him instead, holding out her hand to introduce herself and deciding to do away with fancy titles altogether.

"Narcisse," he responded as he shook her hand like a professional, as though the two of them were carrying out some sort of business transaction. "Stephane Narcisse."

"Are you my new Publicist?" she asked him with another frown, half expecting him to deny it.

He simply inclined his head a little, with that smirk still on his face.

"I thought the groom was not supposed to catch a glimpse of the bride before the wedding?" he asked her with a knowing smirk as he nodded his head in the direction of the window she'd just been looking out of.

Yes, he was definitely mocking her.

"Well, this is not exactly a normal bride-and-groom situation, is it?" she fired back with folded arms and a raised eyebrow.

"That it is not," he conceded with another incline of his head. "But perhaps these…unconventional circumstances will allow us to bend the rules a little at some point?" he asked her with a raised eyebrow of his own.

"Perhaps," Mary replied with a confused frown. She felt almost as though he was testing her in some way, although she wasn't sure how she was supposed to pass the test. She couldn't help feeling a bit relieved though, at the hint that this particular Publicist might _not_ expect her to blindly follow her family's rules.

"It must run in the family," Narcisse suddenly muttered, cryptically.

"Excuse me?" Mary asked him, her expression firm, ready to defend her family's honour, in spite of all the things she'd said and thought about them herself.

He gestured vaguely in the direction of the window that Mary had just been looking out of before he answered: "I've just spied your older brother listening in outside the open door leading to the Throne Room. No doubt trying to catch a glimpse of your future husband for you…"

Mary winced a little at the use of the term 'future husband', but she couldn't help feeling a rush of gratitude towards her brother. She'd asked James over and over if he could perhaps try to find out who her parents were trying to set her up with in advance of the opening ceremony, to reduce the possibility of any unpleasant surprises, but she hadn't _really_ expected him to try.

But then, the more cynical voice in her head reminded her, James could simply be so eager to find out who it was out of his own personal anger that the secret had been kept from him in the first place. As the heir to the throne, he often acted like he was entitled to know about everything that was going on within the castle walls. She'd seen the look of irritation on his face a few weeks ago, when her parents had made their final decision and informed James that it would be easier if he didn't know who would be visiting the palace today, for fear that he would inadvertently reveal the secret too early.

"Shall we?" said Narcisse, interrupting her thoughts. He held an open hand out towards the television room.

Mary stood on her tiptoes and looked into the room, where she could see various people bustling about wearing headsets, talking on their phones and moving clothes rails around. With a shrug, she followed Narcisse inside.

* * *

As always, the walls of this room where bright white, spotlessly clean-clinical, almost.

There was also a freshly polished white coffee table in one corner, on which there were several tabloid magazines displayed. Mary noticed that the front cover of the magazine at the top of the pile showed a photograph of her mother at the White House, on her most recent official visit to the USA to meet the President.

This room with its white walls definitely felt like it belonged to her mother, and not to Mary.

She noticed that the old chess set that had been collecting dust in the far corner of the room had been moved to the middle of the floor. She suspected that Narcisse had been playing against other staff members while he waited for her to arrive.

First, he led her towards the clothes rails leaning against the walls, where rows and rows of brightly coloured dresses were hanging. For the past few months, her mother had repeatedly sent her pictures of all of these designer gowns, urging her to make a decision in advance of the opening ceremony as to what she wanted to wear, but in her lack of enthusiasm, Mary had barely glanced at any of the pictures.

Now, she stared at all the expensive dresses, many of them covered in jewels and beads and intricate patterns.

It was tempting, to pick out the brightest, fanciest dress, to use the opening ceremony as some sort of catwalk so she could distract the public from the seriousness of the upcoming event and all the issues in Scotland; to hide herself behind expensive jewels and layers of makeup, but she knew that wasn't an option anymore. Or, more accurately, she didn't _want_ it to be an option. She didn't want to be a silly girl in a silly dress.

Mary felt almost as though she was about to walk onto a battlefield, and she wanted to look like a worthy opponent, even though she was trembling on the inside.

"I want to look like me," she insisted as she pulled out a plain, simple, black lace dress from the end of the clothes rail and glanced determinedly in Narcisse's direction.

"An excellent choice," Narcisse told her as he stood behind her and nodded at the dress. Apparently, she had passed this particular test of his.

The look on his face was calculating, and for a moment Mary imagined herself as a chess piece on Narcisse's own personal chessboard; a piece that he was attempting to manoeuvre into an advantageous position.

After the dress had officially been decided upon, in the face of opposition and several arguments from the stylists in the room, Narcisse showed her to the chairs which were positioned around the chessboard.

He pointed at one of the chairs, indicating that she should take a seat.

Again, Mary frowned. She thought of her mother, and the way that _nobody_ would have _dared_ to sit down at formal events until she gave them permission to do so; how nobody would have told _her_ to take a seat. But she wasn't her mother.

"How are you feeling about the upcoming process?" Narcisse asked her the moment they had both sat down.

For a second, Mary was tempted to lie. She could say that she was fine, that she was excited for what was to come. Or she could at least pretend that she was happy to do her duty to Scotland.

But she couldn't do it; some sort of block in her mind would not allow her to speak those deceptive words at the moment. Nobody else truly understood how she felt, not her brother, or her father, and especially not her mother, and she simply had to be honest with somebody.

"Terrified," she finally admitted after what felt like a long, tense pause. She looked down at the floor, almost feeling ashamed at the admission.

Narcisse, however, didn't offer up any words of judgment. He simply nodded as he stared at the chessboard beside him. Another test passed.

"Your mother has advised," he said, as he glanced down at his clipboard, "that you focus on how _beneficial_ to the royal family you think this process will be, when you give your first interview at today's ceremony…how _enthusiastic_ you are about it all. How much you're _looking forward_ to meeting your 'fiancé…"

His lips quirked into a smile when Mary was unable to resist rolling her eyes at the repetition of her mother's orders.

"However-"

Mary couldn't help looking up at Narcisse's 'however'. Now, he had her full attention. For so many years, she'd been spoken to like a child, but now, this older man was actually talking to her like an adult; an adult who understood tactics and game-playing. An adult who could bend the rules and change the game with him.

"-in light of what you've just said, I thought perhaps we could try another angle-"

"Which is?" Mary asked, full of curiosity.

"You're… _intrigued_ to see where this matchmaking process will go. You're _waiting_ to see how it plays out. You're acting on behalf of Scotland, and you intend to keep it that way. Keep it vague. Make no promises. Don't be rude, but _don't_ give too much away. Do not commit to anything just yet. Let them know that the game might change, if you so choose."

Mary nodded. She liked this method better. It would give _her_ room to manoeuvre; more space to weigh up her options.

 _The opportunity to back out of a proposal,_ she couldn't help thinking, although she tried not to let this thought reflect in her facial expression. She wasn't sure yet if she trusted Narcisse or not.

"After the opening ceremony..." He leaned forward now, speaking in a whisper, as though he didn't want this part of the conversation to be overheard by others in the room. "Keep a close eye on _everything_ , so we can see how we can use this matchmaking process to our best advantage."

Mary found it slightly strange, how Narcisse had said 'we' and 'our', instead of 'you' and 'your'.

They discussed the approach that Mary would take in her initial interviews for a little while longer, before they were interrupted by a knock at the door.

Narcisse got up to answer it, but Mary was one step ahead of him. She opened the door to see a young woman with long brown hair that fell in gentle curls over her shoulders standing on the other side of it. She was dressed in a dark blue skirt and jacket, with a white blouse underneath the smart jacket. The colours of Scotland. The outfit might have looked professional, but it didn't completely mask the girl's youth.

Mary's family had been advertising for several staff positions over the past few months, and a lot of interviews had been taking place recently. It seemed as though this girl was new here. Out of the corner of her eye, Mary could see Narcisse watching the young woman with an expression of interest from where he was standing on the other side of the room.

The girl was carrying a cushion with a tiara displayed proudly on top of it. One glance at the glittering tiara and Mary knew exactly who had sent her.

She tried her best to smile encouragingly at her, feeling genuinely happy that for once, her mother had employed a younger member of staff, someone who looked to be around Mary's age, or perhaps only a few years older. Perhaps they might even become friends.

"Your Highness," the girl greeted her with a quick curtsy. She looked tense, nervous.

"Mary," Mary instantly corrected her, trying to put her at ease.

"M-Mary," the girl repeated hesitantly, like she was trying the name out, testing this casual address of a royal to see if it worked. "Your mother's insisting you wear a tiara for today's ceremony. She told me to bring it straight to you and ordered me not to drop it or damage it. Queen Marie is a bit scary," she added in a whisper, before her eyes suddenly widened, as though she couldn't believe that she'd just said this out loud; as though she'd only just remembered that she was speaking to 'Queen Marie's' daughter.

"Just a bit?" Mary asked her with a knowing smirk, trying to lighten the mood.

Luckily, the girl smiled back at her.

"Lola," the girl introduced herself, after she'd handed the tiara over to Mary with trembling hands.

Mary thanked her for the tiara, and Lola nodded her head politely at Mary and the staff in the room before she turned to leave. Mary noticed that Lola's glance rested on Narcisse for a few long seconds before she closed the door.

The next hour passed in a blur of hair styling products and makeup brushes, along with several arguments between Narcisse and the hair and makeup artists, after he'd insisted that they were to keep Mary's hair and makeup simple.

After yet another tense argument, caused by Mary's insistence on wearing the silver key from her bedroom on its black ribbon around her neck for the ceremony instead of the traditional royal jewels, Narcisse and a few other staff members left her alone with the stylists so she could change into her dress.

When he returned, he insisted on placing the tiara on her head, lowering it down slowly, almost like he was at a coronation ceremony, crowning a queen.

When the tiara was firmly upon her head, she heard another knock at the door.

Mary felt her whole body tense. She was expected downstairs at the opening ceremony any moment now, and she had no doubt that this was her older brother, here to collect her, to walk her to her future.

When she opened the door, the first thing she noticed was that James looked much paler than usual. Then, she saw that his eyes were wide. He looked shocked, like he was in a state of total disbelief; like he couldn't believe what he'd just seen. _Who_ he'd just seen.

At the look on her older brother's face, Mary's whole body felt like it had turned ice cold with dread. It was as though she had just plummeted into freezing water. She felt like she was drowning.

"James," Mary asked him, her voice trembling with a fear that she could no longer disguise, "who is it?"


	3. Chapter 3

* **Notes** : Just as a general warning, this chapter features a flashback to a disastrous event that acts as a painful memory for several of the characters...

* * *

Francis paced rapidly up and down the small room that was just off to the side of the main Throne Room in the Scottish castle, where he was separated from the television crew by only a closed door, almost as though the door was creating a physical barrier between his past and his future.

It wasn't that there was anything particularly wrong with the room-it was neat and tidy and clean, with several comfortable chairs placed about it, and a small window that offered a view out to the castle grounds, but the combination of the small space, and the presence of the French guards who had travelled to Scotland with them, as well as his father and several journalists, made Francis feel like a prisoner, or worse, like a caged animal.

Then there were the ever-growing nerves over what was about to happen, the pounding of his heart, his shaking hands…

 _Please don't hate me,_ he chanted over and over in his head, as though she could somehow hear him through some sort of telepathic connection. _Please understand why I had to agree to this. Please see that I was only trying to protect you, your family, your country. I never wanted to hurt you."_

He knew that all of these thoughts were pointless, ridiculous, especially when he wasn't actually saying them out loud, but he couldn't help it.

Yet, even if he _could_ put all of these thoughts into words, what difference would they make? She didn't feel the same way about him-perhaps they had been close, once, when they were children, but since then, she'd always treated him with something like indifference. She'd always treated royalty in general with indifference. And after that night, things had only got worse…

 _Please don't hate me_ , he begged her again in his thoughts.

Francis was distracted from his negative thoughts by the sound of a radio communication coming through to one of the guard's radios.

"They'll be ready for you in five minutes, Your Highness," the guard informed him, his tone sounding rather flat.

"Thank you," Francis replied with a curt nod, even though _he_ wasn't ready for them. He wasn't sure he'd _ever_ be ready for Scotland and its royal family; ready for her.

As the minutes ticked away and the moment of facing the cameras drew ever closer, Francis's thoughts grew increasingly irrational: _I knew it was you,_ he told her. _I knew it was you, behind the mask, that night. I knew it was you before the others worked it out, before you revealed yourself. You looked beautiful. I always knew it was you. I still know. I called out for you, later that night, early the next morning, but you didn't hear. You'd already left…_

Perhaps these thoughts in particular were the most difficult to deal with. He knew how to be a king; he'd been trained for that role since birth. He knew how to manage his subjects and French politics and policies to the best of his abilities. He knew how to charm people, and even how to flirt, when it was necessary. He knew how to kiss, how to conduct something akin to a relationship within the walls of the castle back in France. But nothing had ever prepared him for _this_. For real, romantic feelings. For unrequited love.

He wasn't supposed to _have_ these feelings in the first place-his first priority was always supposed to be his role as a future king. He was supposed to treat this matchmaking process as nothing but a wise political decision; a clever move for the French pieces on some sort of imaginary chessboard. But it was becoming increasingly difficult to hide his true self behind his own invisible mask that he was forced to wear every day when he faced the public.

"They're ready for you now, Francis," his father told him, with a definite warning in his glance.

Francis's heart started beating even faster. As he headed towards the door that would take him to the Throne Room, he made a few more futile attempts to communicate with her through his thoughts: _Please try to remember the day under the tree, when there were petals raining down on our heads; please try not to remember the night years later, when there were shards of glass falling down on us…_

He shuddered, trying to shake off those last-minute thoughts as he reached out a shaking hand to open the door.

 _Mary, I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry,_ he couldn't help thinking, over and over.

Perhaps after today's show, this would be the one thought that he would be able to put into words.

* * *

James didn't answer her question.

Mary wasn't even sure she'd really expected him to answer.

Instead, he continued to stare back at her with wide eyes. He still looked pale, and shocked, and there was an expression of panic written all over his face.

Mary was sure that the look on her brother's face was some sort of twisted reflection of her own inner fear. She wondered how bad this could be, for James to look so shocked; she wondered what terrible moment her parents were about to subject her to.

After a few long, tense moments, her brother finally broke the silence: "Mary, please," he whispered. His tone of voice was desperate, pleading.

As always, Mary could read between the lines of what he was saying: _Don't make me tell you. Don't put me in this position. Don't make me choose between loyalty to you and loyalty to our parents. Don't ask me to break the rules for you this time. Not today. Please just do your duty so we can both get through this._

Suddenly, a memory of a time when _she_ had asked for James's silence started to play out in her mind…

 _She was in the hospital wing of a castle that was definitely not her family's, the morning after a terrible disaster had happened._

" _James," she whispered, the moment he arrived beside her hospital bed. "Please don't ask me why I'm here. Please don't tell anyone I'm here…"_

 _He nodded his head, solemnly, silently agreeing to her plea._

And he had never told anyone about the mess that Mary had almost got them all into, not even their parents.

Mary felt her eyes widening in horror at the realisation that she'd just let that particular memory enter her head on a day like today. Of all the days for the fragments of that memory to appear in her mind. Why was she thinking about it now? It was in the past, and today was not a day to be thinking about the past.

Eventually, Mary answered her brother's silent plea with a sad, resigned nod of her own.

Her brother was not going to ease this burden for her, and she knew it. Deep down, she'd known it right from the start, when her mother had first persuaded her to sign up for this.

And, to make matters worse, she couldn't sulk or make demands of James, because she had asked for his silence once, too, and he had done just that, never telling her parents where she'd been that night, never telling anyone that she had been _there._ He had saved her from so many awkward questions, and kept her secret. And now she owed him.

Whoever the man was who her parents were planning to introduce her to, she was going to have to walk into this process blind. She truly would be finding out who she was supposed to marry on live television, at the same time as the rest of the country.

With another sigh, she took James's arm (trying not to grip too tight) so that he could lead her out of the television room.

"Oh, and Mary?" a voice called out to her, just before she could step out of the room.

She turned around and saw Narcisse, who was standing in the middle of the room with his arms folded and a calculating expression on his face.

With James's not-so-welcome arrival, Mary had almost forgotten that her Publicist was still here.

"Whoever you see in that studio this afternoon, remember-do _not_ let any worry show on your face. Keep that poker face well and truly in place."

In spite of a fresh wave of fear that washed over her at Narcisse's words, Mary couldn't help rolling her eyes. Already, it seemed typical of Narcisse to use a poker reference in his instructions to her. It seemed like the sort of game that he would be good at, like chess.

Feeling too nervous to protest at the moment, Mary simply nodded at him before she followed James out of the room.

* * *

Her parents were not permitted to take her the Throne Room. It went against the rules of the process, as there were fears that they could accidentally reveal something to her in advance of the start of the show, and her reaction to seeing the man they wanted her to marry was supposed to be natural and organic after all-not polluted by any outside influence. So, it had been decided that James would have the dubious honour of walking with her.

She walked down several corridors and flights of stairs arm-in-arm with her older brother, treading over more blue carpets and glancing at several exquisite paintings and suits of armour along the way.

As they walked, Mary couldn't help thinking about how even though everything in the castle looked the same, the tense atmosphere all around them made everything seem different somehow: darker, more gloomy. Or maybe she was just allowing her nerves to warp her perception of the castle right now, as though what was on the outside was merely a reflection of what was going on within.

When they reached the final corridor on the ground floor that led to the Throne Room, James let go of her arm. The movement was only gentle, but still, Mary almost felt a jolt of pain in her arm. It was as though some sort of tie had been severed between the two of them.

Her brother open and closed his mouth several times, like he was trying to come up with something important to say, but in the end he gave up, simply nodding at her before he started to walk away in the opposite direction, heading towards the other side of the Throne Room, where he would enter through a more discreet side door and take his seat next to Mary's mother.

James could only take her so far. Now, she would have to take this part of the journey on her own.

She took slow, tentative steps down the corridor, almost back to walking on tiptoes.

 _He's in there,_ she couldn't help thinking to herself, even though she wasn't sure who 'he' was.

She shook her head as though to clear it. It seemed like too big a thought to have right now. In order to get through this, she would have to treat today like a straightforward royal event, a negotiation, or a political meeting. A meeting she simply had to get through before she could start considering other, future events.

On either side of her stood the castle's guards, all of them dressed in black uniforms and holding weapons. The guards were a requirement now, in every part of the castle, since the threats and the riots had rapidly increased over the past few years, but that didn't make them any less intimidating.

Mary knew that they were here for her protection, for her family's protection. Her mother had told her this, over and over. And yet, as she continued to walk nervously down the corridor, she felt almost as though they were not in fact protecting her but were instead holding her here, in this corridor; holding her prisoner in the castle.

As she got further down the corridor however, closer to the door leading to the Throne Room, she saw someone who lightened her mood a little.

"Aloysius!" she called out with a smile, temporarily abandoning all protocol as she ran the last few steps towards him.

A few of the guards looked a bit disgruntled, but they didn't tell her off, the way they would have done back when she was a child.

"Mary!" he called back to her. His smile was kind as he held out his arms for a hug.

Mary's mother had known Aloysius, back when she'd been a politician and he'd been a member of the Scottish equivalent of the House of Lords.

Nowadays, after several successful appearances on various political panel shows and royal documentaries, Aloysius's career seemed to be more focused on the world of television. Mary had seen him conduct many an on-screen interview with royals and celebrities alike, and she therefore guessed that he had been selected to present this strange television show today, and to carry out the initial interviews.

For all of her other emotions at the moment, Mary couldn't help feeling relieved that there would at least be a familiar, friendly face on the stage with her today.

"How are Greer and the children?" she asked him with another smile after they'd hugged, almost forgetting for a moment that she was about to appear on television in front of the whole country.

"Oh, fine, wonderful!" he replied, beaming proudly. "They're all very busy, of course, getting ready for the wedding!"

Mary felt a rush of excitement on her friend Greer's behalf.

Back at school in London, Greer had been in a relationship with a boy called Leith. The two of them had often been nicknamed 'the model pupils', and they'd been Head Girl and Head Boy together in their final year.

Everyone at school, Mary included, had just assumed that Greer and Leith would get married one day, but, much to Mary's surprise, the two of them seemed to have drifted apart after they left school, and they'd broken up not long after.

One evening, Mary had introduced her friend to Aloysius Castleroy at a political party her mother had organised, and they hadn't looked back since.

Now, nothing seemed to make Greer happier than spending time with her fiancé and her soon-to-be-stepchildren.

It was strange, how life worked out, how things changed. How people changed.

"Well, tell them that I'm looking forward to the wedding, too," Mary told him. And she really meant it. She couldn't wait to be a bridesmaid for the girl who had been her closest friend at school. "Greer's wedding, I mean," she added hastily, as though she really needed to clarify this. She couldn't yet comprehend the idea that her mother was expecting _her_ to be planning a wedding of her own in three months' time.

"I'll pass on your best wishes," he beamed at her. "So, are you ready for today?" he started to ask, before they were interrupted by a woman leaning around the Throne Room door, wearing a headset and carrying a clipboard. She was no doubt a member of the television crew.

"Lord Castleroy?" said the woman, after she'd nodded curtly in greeting in Mary's direction. "We're ready for you now. Princess, if you could just wait out here for a few more minutes?"

Aloysius nodded, all-professional now.

"I'll see you soon, Princess Mary," he told her with a quick bow before he went to follow the woman into the Throne Room.

"I'll see you soon, Lord Castleroy," Mary told him with a bow of her own just before he left, trying to sound cool, calm, professional, the way that he had just done.

In the presence of others, at a time of royal duty, they had to revert back to titles and protocol.

The door closed with what seemed like a loud echo in the almost-empty corridor. Again, Mary was left alone, with only the guards for company.

As she paced anxiously outside the door, she passed the time by thinking about all the rules of this process, this television show; rules that her mother had 'helpfully' printed out and put together as one large document, which she always left displayed on Mary's desk for 'extra reading'…

According to the rules, her parents were supposed to take charge of this matchmaking process. They were supposed to find her a suitable match, and they were supposed to offer their reasons for their choice in various interviews along the way, explaining their decision on both a personal and a professional level.

There would be an official opening ceremony, where the television crew could film the initial meeting (and get a good look at the castle while they were at it).

Her mother was probably up on stage at this very moment, giving her first interview as the show got started. Or maybe James was giving some sort of opening speech, the way he always did at official events.

After the opening ceremony, there would be an opening party, or a ball, more accurately, which the cameras were also allowed to film.

Then, Mary would have three months to get to know her potential husband, before she had to make a final decision on television at the closing ceremony as to whether or not a proposal would be happening.

Along the way, she and her match would be expected to appear in interviews together, to attend events as a couple, to meet each other's family and friends, to get a taste of what day to day life together would be like.

They would also be expected to go on dates, to make the show more interesting, and the public could even vote on several possible locations and settings for the dates.

The man would also be expected to plan several of the dates himself, to give Mary an idea of what he would be like when it came to romance, and an idea of a possible future life as a couple.

 _Three months,_ Mary thought to herself as she continued to pace up and down. _It isn't long enough. There's never enough time. How will I know for sure?_

Her thoughts were abruptly interrupted when the young woman from the television crew opened the door again.

"They're ready for you," she whispered, clearly trying to keep her voice down now that the cameras were rolling.

With a sigh, Mary headed towards the open door, only pausing so that the crew member could attach a microphone to her dress.

The show was about to start. Her show.

* * *

The chairs in the Throne Room had been positioned so that the audience members were facing away from Mary as she entered from the back of the room, but it didn't matter. The second she moved to stand in the doorway, everyone in the room turned in their chair to stare avidly at her.

Mary was tempted to run away. She wasn't used to this level of attention. Usually, people were looking at James, or at her mother, not at her.

But she couldn't run, not when the whole country was watching her. She had to be brave, the way that all her royal ancestors had been.

Mary held her head up high as she walked down the aisle that led to the raised platform at the front of the room, which was usually a platform where royal and political speeches were delivered.

Her mother's throne had been moved to the back of the room. It was only really used for show anyway. Modern queens did not spend their days sitting on thrones. Still, it made for some nice royal photos in tabloid magazines.

Perhaps everyone would say that Mary's tiara was just for show, too, but still, she wanted everyone to see it on her head; she wanted them to believe that she was a rightful member of the Scottish royal family, even if she had trouble believing it herself, sometimes.

As she walked, taking slow, dignified steps, Mary thought about the long-sleeved, black lace dress that she'd chosen to wear; she thought about the key on the black ribbon around her neck. They were her choices. She was going to do this on her own terms. She was _not_ going to lose herself along the way.

She was distracted for a moment by the sound of applause. She blinked and looked around the room, noticing that it was James who was applauding her.

Following their future king's lead, everyone else seated in the room started to do the same. Mary felt a little emotional at the gesture. This was James's attempt at showing her that he was with her, supporting her; it was his attempt at rallying others in the room to do the same, to make this process a bit easier.

With a quick smile at her brother, Mary continued to head towards the front of the room, where she was helped onto the raised platform by Lord Castleroy.

"Your Highness," he greeted her, with another bow, as though they had not just been making casual conversation outside.

"Lord Castleroy," Mary greeted him, with a curtsy this time. Her mother seemed to prefer it that way; she seemed to think it was more 'ladylike'. Mary really hoped that her voice wasn't shaking as she spoke.

She turned and looked out at her audience. For a few seconds, she was dazzled by the flashes coming from various phones and professional cameras. She blinked rapidly a few times, desperately trying to adjust to the flashes of light.

As the lights faded, Mary noticed that the room had been divided almost equally into four parts:

In one section of the audience sat her family and other royals.

She glanced at her father, who was grinning at her encouragingly. His red hair looked a bit of a mess, and a few buttons were fastened incorrectly on his shirt. Mary smiled fondly back at him as he waved at her. In many ways, he was her mother's complete opposite, but something about them as a married couple just worked. Perhaps they balanced each other out.

Mary looked again at James, who still seemed tense and nervous, and he was currently refusing to look her in the eye.

Then, she chanced a glance at her mother, who was watching her with pursed lips as she took in her dress and her jewellery. Apparently, her mother didn't approve of her choice of outfit.

She couldn't help noticing that her mother looked pale and drawn today, and there were dark circles under her eyes. And she'd been looking so well lately, too...

More than anything, Mary hoped that she wasn't ill again. She remembered those dark days during her childhood, when her mother had been in and out of hospital. She remembered finding her in the woods one day, collapsed on the ground, when they were on a royal visit to some country or other…

Out of nowhere, an image of a tree and falling white petals appeared in Mary's mind. She blinked, wondering where that image had just come from, what it was about remembering her mother's illness that had conjured up the image in her mind. She blinked again and shook her head, telling herself firmly that she needed to focus. She was on live television, and she couldn't afford any distractions.

She looked around at her audience again.

In another section on the other side of the room sat various journalists and photographers, many of them holding up their phones or cameras as they filmed or took pictures of her.

There were also larger cameras being operated by a camera crew all around the room, along with several pieces of equipment attached to the ceiling, making sure to capture the show from every angle.

Every few seconds, a journalist would type something on their phone, or take notes on bits of paper. Mary could only hope that they would write positive comments about her, although she couldn't be sure.

Behind the journalists sat several members of the public who'd won various competitions and had therefore been invited to the castle today to see the show up close. They watched Mary eagerly, looking a lot more fascinated by her than anyone else in the room. Some even sat on the edge of their seats.

And, last but certainly not least, several of the palace staff sat behind the royal family, along with Mary's stylists and hair and makeup artists, and of course her new Publicist, Stephane Narcisse, at the end of a row of seats. He had apparently slipped into the room at some point while Mary had been waiting outside.

She noticed that Lola was watching him out of the corner of her eye from the other end of the row, where she was sitting. The second Narcisse turned to look at her, she blushed and turned away, trying to pretend that she hadn't been looking at him at all. Narcisse smirked. He had seen her looking. Mary suspected that he had been playing this game for a lot longer than Lola had.

Without thinking about it, Mary looked around the room to see if the boy with blue eyes was sitting there somewhere, or hiding away in a corner, ready to appear as her 'match', even though she knew that this would be highly unlikely. Of course he wasn't here.

To start, Castleroy asked her a few pre-prepared questions about life as a member of the Scottish royal family, and life in the castle. These were the things that members of the public always seemed to be strangely curious about.

"So, Mary," Lord Castleroy beamed at her, as soon as the preliminary questions were out of the way. "It's a big day for you today! How are you feeling about it?"

"I'm very…intrigued to see where this will go," Mary recited automatically, after she'd taken a few deep breaths to calm herself. Her voice sounded almost robotic. "I'm curious to see how this process will play out, and to see what might happen. And of course, the whole time, I will be thinking of Scotland, and acting on my country's behalf."

Discreetly, she glanced at Narcisse. He nodded at her and subtly gave her a thumbs-up. As he raised his hand in approval, some remnant of a memory, or perhaps just a sense of deja-vu seemed to strike her, but she couldn't quite place this feeling of eerie familiarity.

Narcisse might have approved of her words, but her mother didn't look very impressed. She shook her head in Mary's direction in obvious disapproval.

At the very least, the members of the public in the room seemed to be encouraged by her words about Scotland. They nodded and beamed at her as she spoke. Apparently, her mother had ensured that only the most patriotic subjects were invited here today.

"Well, without further ado," Castleroy smiled at her again, looking far more enthusiastic than Mary actually felt, "shall we introduce you to the man your parents are eager for you to see?"

Later, Mary would remember that he had _not_ said: 'The man your parents are eager for you to _meet_.'

Automatically, Mary nodded, the way she was supposed to.

Already, various members of the television crew were fussing about over on the left-hand side of the room, opening the door that led to a side room just off the Throne Room.

Mary tried to ignore the fact that her heart was beating fast, and the fact that her hands were starting to shake.

And then, the door opened, and a young man walked out of it.

With a gasp, Mary put her hand to her mouth as she blinked several times, as though she couldn't believe that this was actually happening.

Her eyes started to widen. Her heart beat even faster. She felt like she'd been frozen to the spot. It was as though time had stood still.

It was not the boy with blue eyes.

It was not a stranger.

She would recognise that wavy blond hair anywhere.

She would recognise the way he walked, tall and proud with his back straight, his hands clasped behind his back, his expression serious, tense.

" _Francis_ ," said Mary, the word pulled from her lips as she stared at him with wide eyes.

Surely this was a dream? Surely this wasn't actually happening?

"Ah, I see that you two already know each other!" Lord Castleroy joked with a jovial laugh, like this was all some sort of hilarious coincidence.

Even the audience had laughed as Mary said his name out loud.

Mary could barely react; there was no way she could fake a smile, or even speak right now.

Instead, she felt like the room was spinning, disappearing all around her as she plummeted into her deepest, darkest memory that had been triggered by the sight of the prince standing in front of her…

 _She was sixteen years old. It was the middle of the night, and the moon and the stars were shining bright in the sky._

 _She was walking slowly up the long path that led to the magnificent 'Chateau Valois', as her family always nicknamed it. She was not supposed to be here. After years of animosity between the two royal families, the Scots were not invited here tonight; they were not welcome among the Valois' friends anymore._

 _The Scottish royal family was supposed to officially meet with the French royal family tomorrow at a public event in Paris, but the allure of a masked ball, and the thrill of sneaking out of her family's luxurious, everything-is-in-order hotel in the French countryside and into this forbidden castle right under the French royal family's nose had just been too tempting._

 _Carefully, she adjusted the Venetian mask covering her face, hoping that the mask (and the additional makeup she'd applied) would be enough to conceal her identity._

 _The pathway leading up to the castle was lined with journalists, photographers and various guests who were taking pictures of themselves with the cameras on their phones. It would be all too easy to accidentally appear on a picture._

 _Every time she walked past a flashing light, Mary made sure to raise her hand, to cover the part of her face that wasn't already covered by the mask, or to brush her long hair in front of her face, further concealing herself._

 _As she reached the end of the path, she successfully got past the first set of guards, but then her way was blocked by another pair of guards when she reached the front doors, both of them holding out their arms to prevent her from entering as they regarded her with suspicious expressions._

" _Who are you?" they demanded of her several times, both of their voices abrupt._

 _The guards who worked at the French castle were known for their more aggressive tendencies. Deep down, Mary believed that their work ethic was merely a reflection of the attitude of the aggressive king who employed them._

 _In broken French, Mary tried to tell parts of her semi-plausible backstory that she'd come up with in advance: it was the same story that she'd used along the path when she'd been questioned by other guests, where she used a false identity, taking on the name of a distant relative of the French royal family, mentioning an official invitation that she'd received by post. After years of practice, she was adept at sneaking around and covering her tracks._

 _But neither of the guards seemed to believe her this time. They were just starting to get angry and make threats when-_

" _What's going on here?" she heard someone ask the guards in French._

 _She looked up to see Francis Valois standing a few feet away from her, behind the guards and inside the castle's entrance hall._

 _Mary felt a flicker of nerves, telling herself that she was panicking because she feared that she truly would be caught now. She looked at the floor, unable to look Francis in the eye. It had been a while, since they'd last seen one another. She remembered them being close friends, during childhood, but since they'd become teenagers, it always seemed like Francis went out of his way to avoid her, or like he simply shut down and acted more distant whenever she walked into a room._

 _The guards turned their attention to Francis._

 _Mary caught a few 'Your Highnesses' in their sentences, and she could just make out a few exclamations in French about how 'this girl' wasn't supposed to be here, while Francis shook his head, looking angry at the way they were speaking to him._

 _Then, much to Mary's surprise-_

" _Let her in," Francis suddenly said in perfect English, with an accent that could rival those of the students from wealthy British families who had attended Mary's London school. "She is with me," he added when the guards continued to protest, as though this was explanation enough._

 _Mary looked up in shock, and Francis looked her right in the eye. She had a sneaking suspicion that he knew exactly who she was, behind the mask, and that he was covering for her. Although she had no idea why he would do her a favour like that. Why he would allow her to enter the party. Why he would want her there._

 _Finally, the guards relented and allowed her to pass._

 _Mary walked past them and into the castle with slow, dignified steps, but she couldn't help smirking smugly at the guards when she caught their eye._

 _On the other side of the entrance hall, she saw another man watching her. He appeared to be older than her, but she couldn't tell for sure, because he too was wearing a mask. He smirked at her when she got past the guards, and held up his wine glass to her as though in a toast to her success, like he was proud of her for getting one over on the French royals._

 _Feeling slightly unnerved by the older stranger's actions, Mary looked back at Francis, who still seemed to be watching her, as though waiting for some sort of reaction._

 _Mary was just about to thank him when-_

" _Francis, will you not talk to me tonight?" a girl with blonde hair and a French accent asked him, interrupting whatever it was that Mary had been about to say._

 _The blonde girl was standing on the last step of the grand staircase that led into the castle entrance hall, and she held an open hand out to Francis before she beckoned him over to her, the gesture demanding, insistent._

 _After a few moments, Mary recognised the girl as Olivia, who she knew from previous events to be Francis Valois' latest girlfriend._

" _Of course," Francis replied, as he instantly started to head over in Olivia's direction with a smile on his face, although the smile looked a little forced, almost as though the two of them had recently been arguing._

 _Mary felt a flicker of something that felt like anger, or loss, although she wasn't sure why she felt that way._

 _She hurried off in the direction of groups of other guests who were gathering in the long corridor that led to the ballroom, really feeling like she didn't want to be around Francis and Olivia right now, especially as they had just started to pose together for photographs taken by the press._

 _Olivia seemed to glare suspiciously at her as she passed, as though she was trying to work out who her boyfriend had just been talking to._

 _Eventually, Mary found her way to the ballroom, but not before she'd got into an animated discussion with a group of older men who seemed to find the whole party pointless and ridiculous._

 _Mary had had fun, for a few minutes, making sarcastic comments along with them, using a mix of French and English. They were just the sort of people who she always befriended at royal events, much to her mother's dismay-those who seemed to share her bitterness and her cynicism about life as a royal. Secretly, she'd always thought that she would have made a good rebel in another life, rallying people around her as she spoke words of protest._

 _The ballroom was as beautiful and as grand as ever, with its round tables, its polished floors, its dance floor, and its large chandelier hanging from the ceiling. There was even a band playing live music while many people danced._

 _Yet there was something overly polished, overly formal about the whole thing, something that made the party seem slightly unnatural: people were only talking about pre-approved topics; they were holding their cups in just the right way; they were dancing to well-rehearsed dances on the dance floor._

 _Mary wanted to change all that; she wanted to make her presence here tonight felt, somehow._

 _As the band picked up the tempo and the beat of the song got a little faster, Mary suddenly kicked off her shoes and ran to the middle of the dance floor, standing right under the chandelier._

 _Laughing, she started to dance to her own beat, using her own moves, like she was just an ordinary teenage girl who happened to be out at a party._

 _She felt younger than a teenager at the moment though-she felt like the little girl who'd laughed along with her older brother as the two of them had danced around the castle, without a care in the world. She could almost imagine that she'd once danced around this castle as a child, too, with someone who was not her brother._

 _Several other guests seemed to take inspiration from her, and they joined her in the middle of the dance floor, dancing in circles around her._

 _Quite a crowd had gathered to watch them by now, and with a smirk, Mary caught Catherine's eye. Francis's mother was watching her from the corner of the room with a glare and an expression of obvious disapproval. Apparently, Catherine had finally been informed that Mary Stuart, the daughter of a rival royal family, was here tonight._

 _Catherine looked in Francis's direction, who had entered the ballroom at some point since Mary had started dancing. It was as though she was silently appealing to her son to do something, anything, to stop the spectacle that was playing out in front of her eyes, while Olivia also glared at Francis with folded arms from the other side of the room, but Francis didn't seem to see either of them at that moment._

 _Instead, Mary noticed that he was watching_ her _, with an expression that was a strange mixture of surprise, disapproval and amusement. He even seemed to be fighting off a grin._

 _With a grin of her own, Mary started to spin round and round in a circle on the spot, feeling more and more exhilarated every time she went around in yet another circle and she thought about how rare it was to see any sort of unguarded reaction from Francis at all; how rare it was for Francis to even look at her; but now, she seemed to have the prince's full attention, for some reason._

 _As she span around, Mary was laughing at them all, mocking them for their titles and their protocol and their expectations. Laughing at Francis's father, Henry, who had just started to glare at her from the other side of the dance floor, where he was dancing with a woman with dark hair who was definitely not his wife._

 _Mary was rebelling against all of it. Their judgement. Their hypocrisy._

 _Without thinking about what she was doing, she raised her arms up in the air, in a gesture that she'd seen several rioters and protesters use in Scotland, although she wasn't sure what the gesture meant, or if there was even any meaning behind it at all._

 _With her hands in the air, she continued to spin, almost feeling dizzy…_

 _And that was when she heard it._

 _An almost deafening crash echoed around the ballroom, bringing her to an abrupt halt._

 _For a moment, she convinced herself that she'd simply imagined the noise, but then she heard another loud bang and a crash, followed by screaming as the people around her started to scatter._

 _The walls and the floor of the ballroom seemed to shake with the impact, and several people stumbled to the floor as they tried to run._

 _In what could have been minutes, or seconds, the glass in all of the windows shattered, and the shards of glass seemed to fall to the ground like waterfalls._

 _At the same time, several glasses of wine dropped to the floor, the glasses breaking into pieces the moment they hit the ground._

 _Mary remained on the spot, frozen with fear, not knowing what to do, how to act. It was as though years of royal training for situations like this had flown right out of the damaged windows._

 _She couldn't see any face she recognised, which made her feel even more afraid; for as much as she disliked them, Mary couldn't help wondering where the French royal family had gone, whether they were safe._

 _She was only spurred into action at the sound of more loud bangs, and the sound of various tables being upturned as the room descended into further confusion and chaos._

 _She knew that she had to move from this spot, where the people around her were pushing and stumbling, making it difficult to see what was happening, putting her in further danger by their frantic actions, and causing her panic to increase with each passing second._

 _She tore the mask from her face and started to run, pushing past people and using her hands to shield her head as glass from the lights on the ceiling started to rain down on her._

 _What was going on? How had this happened?_

 _She didn't know the answer to either of these questions. She couldn't even think. All she felt was fear, and confusion._

 _For reasons unknown to her, she turned back to look at the spot on the dance floor that she'd just run away from, almost as though she'd left something behind._

 _To her horror, Francis was standing right under the chandelier, in the place she'd just left. She could see the injured people lying all around him, and she realised that he'd run right into the centre of all the chaos at some point in an attempt to help those who were hurt. He looked just as shocked, just as terrified as she felt, but still he hadn't neglected his duty. Ever the prince, ever the royal, unlike her…_

 _Francis was so distracted trying to help others up off the floor that he seemed oblivious to the sound of another loud bang that sounded suspiciously like an explosion, now that Mary was listening more carefully, along with the sound of the chandelier slowly detaching itself from the ceiling with a loud tearing noise._

 _It was as though it happened in slow motion. One minute, Mary was standing on the other side of the room, watching in wide-eyed horror as the chandelier started to fall._

 _Then, she was running, with some deep-rooted instinct pushing her forwards._

 _One word was on her lips, one word that seemed to have been pulled up from somewhere deep inside: "Francis!" she screamed, as she ran towards him, her body now abandoning all attempts to run away from the chaos and instead focusing on pushing her back to it._

 _And then she reached him. In one swift movement, she grabbed hold of Francis and pulled him away from the falling chandelier, just in time._

 _The two of them fell to the floor due to the force that Mary had used to pull Francis out of harm's way._

 _Only feet away from them, the chandelier crashed to the floor and shattered, the sound reverberating all around the room._

 _In that moment, time seemed to stop._

 _Francis held her tight, and she held him too, as though afraid to let him go, even though they had barely touched each other for years._

 _They weren't friends. They weren't even allies. Francis had his whole life here, with his family and his girlfriend. A life that Mary had never been a part of._

 _And yet, in that moment, something deep inside had taken over, and all she'd cared about was protecting him, saving him from that falling chandelier._

 _The look of shock on Francis's face seemed to mirror her own inner confusion._

 _She hoped he wouldn't ask her why she'd done what she'd just done. Why she hadn't just run away, left it to someone else to save him._

 _She didn't know the answer._

" _Mary," he whispered, apparently unable to say anything else._

 _They remained on the ground, holding on to each other, looking each other in the eye as the room and the noise seemed to fade to nothing around them._

 _But all too soon, the moment was over._

 _They were back, back in the noise, the panic, the horror._

 _Mary heard more screaming. She heard Catherine, frantically calling out Francis's name._

" _You foolish, foolish girl!" Catherine would tell her later._

" _How dare you sneak into this castle!" Henry would shout at her later._

" _Mary, you could have put us all in danger," her brother would whisper to her later._

 _Later, Olivia would be by Francis's side, frantically checking that he was okay, and Francis would embrace her._

 _Later, Francis would sit with his mother, and his girlfriend, and his two younger brothers, holding them all close, protecting them, as though Mary had never even been there in the first place._

 _Later, Mary would not talk to Francis; she would tell James that she didn't want to see Francis Valois ever again, when really, it was more that she_ couldn't _see him again, couldn't face him. She would not want to remember._

 _But she didn't know any of that yet, as she lay on the floor in the castle ballroom. All she knew was a sharp burst of pain, as though her body was only just realising that she'd somehow been injured._

 _All she knew was fear…_

And now she was back, back in the Throne Room in Scotland, back in her mother's castle, although a part of her was still sixteen years old and in that castle in France. A part of her was just as afraid as she had been back then.

For two years, she had kept that memory safely locked up.

And now, seeing Francis again, it had been unlocked, too fast, before she was ready to face it.

And time hadn't really stopped. Still, Mary was standing in front of a television crew, in front of Francis Valois, and she was supposed to pretend that all of it had never happened; she was supposed to offer some sort of reaction to seeing him again; she was supposed to perform for the cameras; she was supposed to do something, _anything_.

As she stared at Francis with wide eyes, her mind still lost in her memory, where she was spinning around over and over until she started to feel dizzy, going nowhere, three thoughts suddenly seemed to crash into her mind:

 _He is a prince. He is the heir to his country's throne. He is a future king._

Then another thought appeared as a result, this one even more troubling:

 _There is no escape now._


	4. Chapter 4

Later, Mary would have no idea how she got through her television appearance.

For several moments after she'd found her way out of _that_ memory, she felt as though she was underwater somehow, with every sound around her seeming rather muffled and distant.

The walls seemed to be spinning a little, and Mary had to silently convince herself that she was only imagining this sensation, out of a genuine fear that she might actually faint right there on the stage.

The people in the audience also seemed to look a bit blurry, with their faces no longer seeming clear or distinct.

Except one face in particular.

Francis Valois continued to stand there, right in the centre of the room, right in front of Mary, with that same serious look on his face.

Francis's hands were still clasped tightly behind his back. Every few seconds, he looked in the direction of the room's windows, almost as though he was silently plotting his escape. He looked as though he would rather be anywhere but in this Throne Room right now.

He was dressed all in black, Mary now noticed, just like she was, which probably created the strange impression to the audience that the two of them were in mourning.

Francis's father, Henry, had also arrived in the room at some point, apparently having travelled to Scotland with his son, and he now stood leaning against the back wall with his arms folded and a stern expression on his face. He even sneered at Mary a few times, as though silently trying to let her know that he didn't believe she was good enough for his son.

As Mary looked back and forth between father and son, she couldn't help thinking about how alike the two of them looked right now, with matching stern expressions and dark clothing. This thought made her feel dizzy all over again.

For the few seconds that the focus was off her, Mary managed to catch her mother's eye. Trying to be as subtle as possible, she shook her head slowly as she continued to look right at the Queen of Scotland, trying to let her know just how disappointed she was in her.

She could tell from her mother's expression that this gesture had thrown her-she was used to Mary expressing her disappointment through shouting, or complaining, or sneaking out of the castle to get away from everyone.

As the show dragged on, Mary was fairly sure she managed to say 'yes' and 'no' whenever a question from Lord Castleroy required an answer, and she was almost certain she managed to use a few more pre-approved phrases that Narcisse had taught her, focusing on how she was waiting to see what would happen, now that the process had officially got started, but she couldn't clearly remember exactly what she'd said.

At last, Aloysius asked his final question, and Mary managed to mumble an answer.

Then, as was expected, Francis bowed to her, mumbling something about how he was honoured to go through this matchmaking process with her.

There was no emotion behind his words. He sounded like he was on autopilot; like he was going through the motions; like he was just here to do his duty.

"The honour is mine," Mary responded, the way she had been taught to do, her tone of voice probably sounding just as flat.

Francis turned away from her and started to walk back in the direction he'd come from-back towards the door leading to the side room.

He would be required to stay close to the Throne Room for a little while longer so he could give a few interviews to the waiting journalists, and then Mary would be expected to appear with him again later, at the party.

The audience applauded once more as the show started to come to a close.

* * *

The moment the cameras stopped rolling, Mary practically ripped the microphone away from her dress. She'd been taught the correct method to remove microphones, what with all the television appearances that were required of the royal family, but right now, she didn't care about being slow and careful.

She couldn't take it anymore, and she just had to get out of this room, away from the cameras and the journalists and this whole performance. Away from what was expected of her.

She was acting out of fear, not out of duty.

After she'd thrown the microphone onto the nearest chair, she ran off the stage and towards the door before anyone standing close to her could stop her.

She heard a few words of protest from her mother, but then she heard James's command of, "Let her go!"

Thankfully, this time, her mother listened to her son.

And then Mary was out the door, running through the corridors, getting as far away from the Throne Room as she could.

She ran across the castle's entrance hall, up a couple of flights of stairs and down a few more hallways.

For a moment, she was sure she saw someone else in one of the corridors, standing just around a corner, almost like they were spying on her, but when she slowed down a little to check, there was nobody there. Deciding that she had only imagined it, Mary picked up the pace again.

Finally, she arrived just outside the television room. She hadn't even known that this was the direction she'd been running in; her feet had just taken her back here.

* * *

With adrenaline still running through her body, she pushed open the door leading to the room, practically tripping over the door's threshold, then, when she was safely inside, she slammed the door shut and leaned against it, trying to catch her breath.

Somebody had left the widescreen television on. On the screen, Mary could see some kind of panel show taking place, where a team of celebrity journalists and royal columnists were analysing the opening ceremony.

Every few seconds, an image of Mary standing on the stage in the Throne Room appeared on the screen. Mary chanced a glance at the images, realising that she looked like a rabbit trapped in headlights in every single shot.

Images of Francis also appeared on the screen as the panelists continued to debate and analyse the show. Francis looked equally unenthusiastic, although if he had been nervous at all, he had done a much better job than Mary at hiding his nerves, if the images on the television screen were anything to go by, anyway.

In another sudden burst of anger, Mary threw her tiara onto the nearest sofa, messing up her hair as she removed it. It wasn't enough. With another sigh of exasperation, she took off one of her shoes and flung it across the room. She was tempted to throw it right at the television screen, but she knew it wouldn't be worth the lecture from her mother if the glass screen shattered.

 _How could you do this?!_ she desperately wanted to scream at every single member of her family. _How could you even think about putting me through this?! With him, of all people?!_

All this time, she'd imagined that her parents would perhaps try to set her up with someone who worked in politics-someone who her mother had connections with through her previous role in government.

Or maybe even someone of noble birth who also happened to be a trained accountant, just like her father had been, back when he first met Mary's mother-someone who could help balance the royal family's books and manage money that never seemed to be there when they needed it.

But no, of course her parents hadn't found her someone like that. They'd decided to set her up with someone who was the _heir to the throne_ of a rival country; an _enemy_ country, if she was going to be truly honest.

They'd set her up into some sort of twisted political alliance. They'd set her up into _royalty_. They'd set her up into her own worst nightmare.

Regardless of what had happened that night at the French castle, she thought to herself, did they not know how difficult it would be for her to back out of this, now that there was another royal family to consider?

This would not be like going on a dating show and simply deciding not to meet someone again after a bad first date. Things were different, when royalty was involved. If Mary quit this process, the French royal family would take it as a personal insult. There would be repercussions, both diplomatic and political. It would therefore be almost impossible to get out of this, even with very valid excuses.

For so long, Mary had simply played along when it came to doing her royal duty. Deep down, she'd always hoped that one day when she was grown up, she'd be able to get away from it all, one way or another.

She'd pictured her older brother, James, as king, with his wife and children by his side; children who would take her over in the line of succession and be heirs to the throne. When that happened, Mary's presence would no longer be required at the castle.

She'd assumed that she'd finally be free to move away; free to marry someone who lived a normal life; free to choose her own career; free to set up home in another town, or city, or country.

She'd spent many a happy hour as a teenager, imagining moving to Edinburgh, or maybe even London, where she'd work in politics or law or international relations, or maybe she'd even set up her own art studio, if she was lucky enough. She would live in a house, not a castle; a house that resembled her doll's house, with her little family…

But that wasn't going to happen now. Her parents had seen to that.

Why hadn't she guessed before now? Why hadn't she even imagined that they'd do something like this? Why hadn't she predicted that they would try to block the door that marked her final chance of escape?

 _You foolish, foolish girl!_

Catherine's voice rang out in her head, almost taunting her.

If she married Francis, who was the heir to _his_ country's throne, Mary would one day be a _queen_. She would have to take on all the royal duties and requirements that went with the role, and there would be no getting away from royalty then. She would be pressured to give birth to children, not out of her own desire to have a family, but out of a requirement to produce heirs to the French throne.

With a gasp that sounded suspiciously like a sob, Mary was hit by a fresh wave of horror as she thought about the fact that her parents wanted her to marry into the _Valois_ family, of all the royal families in the world.

There was Francis's father, King Henry, who ruled with fear and saw the law as a black and white process with no blurred lines or exceptions, especially when he was the one who was enforcing it. His staff and subjects alike seemed to be terrified of him.

And of course there was Queen Catherine, who although she was adored by her subjects, could be calculating and manipulative behind closed doors, where her behaviour usually depended on what mood she was in on any given day, and the 'innocent, kindly mother' act often appeared to be just that-an act.

Then there was Francis, who could barely even look at her. Francis, who tensed up and looked away whenever she walked into a room. Francis, who had been right there on that terrible night. Francis, who probably still had a girlfriend. Francis, who always seemed to put his country and his role as its prince first. Francis, who was no doubt only here in Scotland out of duty to France.

As a sense of panic started to overwhelm her, taking over her anger, Mary's breath came out in rapid gasps.

She felt something wet trickle down her cheek, and she realised that she really was crying now.

Still struggling to catch her breath, she grabbed hold of the back of the nearest chair for support.

As she cried, her memories washed over her again like waves…

 _She was on the floor in the castle ballroom. She wasn't sure how much time had passed since she'd first been spinning around in circles, but it seemed almost like she'd lived a whole lifetime in the terrible moments that had followed the first loud crash._

 _At the very least, the worst of the panic seemed to be over now._

 _Francis sat a few feet away from her, looking equally dazed and confused. They must have separated at some point, after their moment of holding each other tight in the midst of the horror._

 _With a heavy sigh, Mary pushed herself up into a seated position, feeling a jolt of pain in her arm as she did so._

 _Catherine was running towards her across the dance floor, a look of fury in her eyes. "You foolish, foolish girl!" she screamed at her._

 _But then, when she got close, she threw herself down on the floor and pulled Mary in for a hug. "Thank you," she whispered in Mary's ear, sounding almost tearful, and slightly hysterical; as unpredictable as ever. "Thank you for saving my son."_

 _Mary barely had time to acknowledge Catherine's words when she heard Henry shouting at her, something about how furious he was that she had dared to sneak into the castle._

 _She couldn't really take in what he was saying, as she was starting to feel dizzy, and everything around her was starting to fade to blackness…_

 _She woke up in the hospital wing, realising that she much have blacked out, and that several hours must have passed since she'd been lying on the ballroom floor, as she could see the faint light of dawn outside the windows._

 _As she sat up slowly, the first person she noticed was her brother, walking slowly towards her hospital bed with a grave expression on his face._

" _James," she whispered automatically, the need to cover her tracks already kicking in before she could start considering anything else, "please don't ask me why I'm here. Please don't tell anyone I'm here…"_

 _He nodded solemnly, silently agreeing to her plea._

 _Suddenly feeling confused as to why James was there in the first place, Mary looked around the room. She noticed that Catherine was standing on the opposite side of the hospital wing, in a far corner, close to Francis's hospital bed._

 _When she caught Mary's eye, she nodded discreetly at her, and Mary realised that this was Catherine's subtle way of paying her back for helping Francis-by summoning her brother here. By calling on the one person who Mary could trust completely._

 _Catherine did not like to be in anyone's debt. Now, she would consider this particular debt to be paid, and she would have free rein to insult Mary and her family again at some point._

 _At the very least, Catherine had not called for Mary's parents. The secret was still safe, for now._

 _Francis's younger brothers were also standing by his bed, next to Catherine, and every few seconds, Francis pulled them both in for a hug, like he was just relieved that they were all right, and he wanted to be close to them._

" _Mary," James whispered, pulling Mary's attention back to him, "be very careful what you say and do. They're watching," he added, rather ominously._

 _Mary frowned at him in confusion. She wasn't sure what James meant. Not then. Everything still seemed a little hazy, and it was hard to think. Among the confusion, she did notice that James was dressed in very smart clothes, and his hair was perfectly styled. Almost as though he'd already been out somewhere when Catherine had called him. She wondered where he could possibly have been. As far as she knew, he'd already been asleep in his room at the hotel when she'd sneaked out._

 _She was just about to ask James what he was talking about when she was distracted by another noise..._

" _Francis! Francis!" she heard someone call out from the doorway, sounding frantic._

 _Mary looked over in time to see Olivia, running dramatically towards Francis's hospital bed, before she practically fell on top of him, throwing her arms around his neck as she embraced him._

 _Mary watched the two of them, the perfect couple, surrounded by Francis's family, and more than ever she felt like an outsider; an intruder on this family moment._

" _James," she whispered, her voice cracking a little as she pleaded with her brother, "we have to get out of here…"_

 _And so the two of them crept out through one of the windows while no one was watching, trying to be as discreet as possible while they walked down the long path and out of the castle gates, so as to not draw attention to themselves, only breaking into a run when the castle was safely in the distance and they were back out in the French countryside._

" _Mary, you could have put us all in danger," James eventually whispered to her as they made their way through a forest on their way back to the hotel, almost as though the trees could actually overhear them. In that moment, James was no longer a concerned older brother but was instead a nervous future king; a king who was worried about the fate of his own country. "You could easily have been accused of being behind that attack! The king was talking about taking you in for questioning…"_

* * *

Mary continued to sob, not even sure if she was so upset because all the memories were still flooding back into her mind, or because the full weight of her family's betrayal had finally hit her.

"Please, Mary?"

Mary jumped at the sound of a voice coming from the doorway.

Hurriedly trying to wipe her eyes, and trying to compose herself, even though she knew it wouldn't be much use, she turned around quickly to see who had entered the room.

A member of the castle's staff was standing in the doorway. Mary hadn't even heard her come in. The woman looked smart in her suit, but she also looked slightly awkward at having intruded on Mary's private moment of anguish. There was a look of urgency on her face, like she was here on somebody else's orders.

Mary sighed, wondering what her mother could _possibly_ want now.

"Please, Mary," the woman repeated, "Francis Valois has asked to speak with you."

Mary felt her eyes widen in shock. She hadn't expected to see Francis again until later at the ball. What did he want to speak to her about?

This was so much worse than an order from her mother.

A sense of panic, and anxiety, set in. Francis couldn't see her like this.

"Tell him I'll meet with him in half an hour, in one of the official meeting rooms," she instructed the member of staff, trying to keep her voice level, even.

She could barely even think straight, with a couple of tears still falling slowly down her cheeks, and her heart still beating fast.

"I'm sorry, Princess," the woman told her, looking genuinely concerned. "He's here right now. He said it was urgent."

Mary stared back at the woman in open-mouthed shock. _Why did you let him up here without my permission?_ she really wanted to shout at her.

This could not happen again. Just because Francis was an heir to a throne, it did not mean that he held any authority over this castle and the Scottish staff. He held no authority over _her_.

But then, there was no more time to think about all that, because Francis was standing in the doorway.

For a moment, Marry almost forgot about her nerves, as she was so surprised by the sight of the prince in front of her.

She saw that Francis must have changed out of his dark clothes at some point since the show had ended, because he was now dressed in a faded pair of jeans and a casual white jumper-an outfit that Mary would _never_ have pictured him wearing. She was so used to his sharp designer suits and black clothes, and of course his crown.

His blond hair also looked a bit messy-a sharp contrast to before, when it had been so perfectly styled for his television appearance.

Not to mention the fact that something about the expression on his face seemed softer, less guarded now. He still looked nervous, but nowhere near as tense as he'd seemed before.

He shuffled into the room, looking just as uncertain as Mary felt.

Mary knew that she must look ridiculous, with her tear-streaked cheeks and messy hair, and a shoe missing from her right foot, but she simply sat down slowly on the nearest chair and stared as though transfixed as Francis moved to stand right in front of her, shuffling from one foot to the other, as though he was actually trying to decide what to do, now that he had her attention.

Mary continued to watch him with a frown. He looked nothing like the stern, serious prince who had stood in front of her in the Throne Room. She had no idea what had brought about this sudden change.

A thought suddenly occurred to her: perhaps this was how he dressed and acted when he wasn't out in public, being his country's prince.

"Mary," he finally whispered after a long, tense silence, his eyes full of concern.

He spoke in perfect English, with a flawless British accent. Anyone meeting him for the first time would probably not even be aware right away that most of his family members were French.

Yet Mary knew that he spoke French perfectly, too-she had heard him, in many an official speech that he had given in his home country.

Mary suspected that the years he had spent at school in London (just like her) were responsible for his perfect command of the English language.

She couldn't help remembering all those evenings when she'd caught glimpses of him in the city, back when she had been sneaking out of her school.

She'd been so full of curiosity at the time as to where Francis was going, on those evenings when he passed her in the streets. Given his status as a royal, Mary had imagined all sorts of sordid places that he must have been visiting-bars and clubs that only those who held high up positions in society were allowed access to.

She'd also pictured all the pretty girls who Francis was probably meeting with in secret in London. Girls his parents wouldn't have approved of, maybe.

Some nights, Mary had even followed him, just to see where he was actually going, feeling ridiculous as she watched him from around corners, trying to keep her distance and be discreet.

But Francis had simply walked and walked, for miles and miles, night after night, going nowhere in particular, apparently happy to walk the streets alone, lost in his thoughts.

Mary felt herself blush as she wondered what Francis would think now, if he ever found out that she'd followed him so many times back then. How ridiculous it would seem to him. How ridiculous it still seemed to her, especially on a day like today. She wasn't even sure why she'd done it.

"I'm so, so sorry," said Francis, pulling Mary back to the present.

Mary looked up at him, unable to help her expression of total confusion, as she wondered why he was apologising; why he was now being so kind to her.

"I know you would never have wanted this," he continued as he started to pace up and down in front of her. "I know you would never have chosen…this, if you'd been given any choice in the matter."

 _I know you would never have chosen me…_ she could practically hear him saying as she read between the lines of his words.

"I want you to know, I wasn't responsible for this mess; I didn't ask for any of this...I would never have pushed you into it."

Still his voice was kind, gentle, apologetic.

Mary was sure she was expected to respond in some way, but right now, she couldn't find the words. She was still too shocked.

"Especially after that night," he mumbled as he stopped pacing and turned to face her.

Mary felt her whole body tense.

"I really am sorry that you got caught up in it all-"

"Francis," Mary interrupted him sharply, surprising even herself. "You must not apologise for that night…" She paused for a moment, trying to think. "I was not allowed to be there, and I chose to sneak in anyway." The words seemed to be leaving Mary's lips before her thoughts could catch up. "I put myself in danger. If anything, I should be apologising to you."

Mary hadn't even realised that this was how she felt, but as she spoke these words out loud, she knew them to be true. Her body relaxed a little, as though some of the tension that she'd been carrying for the past two years was slowly leaving her shoulders. Already, some of the burden of that night had eased, now that she had taken some responsibility for her part in it.

"I helped you to get in," Francis protested. "I would never have forgiven myself, if anything had happened to you…"

Mary blinked rapidly again, feeling overwhelmed by his words, by the act of putting the memory of that night into words. She had to admit though that it was a bit easier, to talk about that awful night with Francis when he speaking to her as a person, and not as a prince.

Although, she didn't really understand what Francis was saying, when he talked about how he would not have forgiven himself if she'd been harmed.

She didn't even understand the change that had come over him since their meeting in the Throne Room half an hour ago.

All of it was too much to process right now.

Mary felt a fresh wave of tears starting to well up, and she furiously tried to blink them back. She couldn't cry in front of Francis. She already looked a mess, but she didn't want to look weak and vulnerable as well.

He must have sensed, however, that she was on the verge of tears, as a look of sympathy crossed his face, and he suddenly knelt down right in front of her, looking almost as though he would have taken hold of her hand to comfort her, if he'd known her better.

"If there's anything I can do to make this process easier," he said gently from where he was kneeling on the floor, "then just let me know. I can stay out of your way behind the scenes, if you'd prefer. And perhaps we can find a way to work together when we're on camera for the next few weeks, so we can both get through this?"

 _So we can both get through this…_

Mary repeated his words in her head. Of course he didn't want to be here. Of course he didn't want to go through this. Like her, he had had no choice in the matter. Others had brought him here; others had pushed him into this.

What a bizarre matchmaking show this was already turning out to be. How the viewing public would laugh, if they knew the truth. Mary would almost have laughed herself, if not for the fact that the reality of the situation already made her want to cry.

"I think that would be a good idea," Mary chose to say out loud, trying to sound as dignified as possible, even though she knew she looked anything but right now.

In spite of everything, she decided that it would probably be better to work _with_ Francis to get through this, rather than against him. If anything, he seemed to understand the pain she was going through right now.

Francis nodded, seemingly satisfied with this agreement that they'd just made, but then there was suddenly a look of anguish, or maybe even pain on his face, almost as though there was something else he had not said out loud, some other secret that was troubling him.

"Francis, please do not feel guilty," Mary told him, deciding that some lingering feeling of guilt over that night must still be getting to him.

Francis looked taken aback for a moment, but then he looked right at her, and he actually managed a hint of a smile, which almost made Mary smile back at him, through her tears.

She opened her mouth to say something else-

Suddenly the door burst open, making them both jump.

"Excellent performance today, Princess…"

As the sound of Narcisse's voice rang out around the room, Francis's expression instantly changed from soft and gentle to cold, almost angry; much more like his father.

He also seemed to go pale, as though the sound of that voice had filled him with a sense of shock, or disbelief.

He stood up slowly from his position on the floor, staring at Narcisse as though he couldn't believe what he was seeing.

Narcisse strode confidently into the room, but he stopped when he realised that Francis was also there, with Mary.

Instead of looking apologetic, a smug smirk seemed to creep slowly to his face.

Mary looked from one to the other, trying to work out what was going on.

"What are you doing here?" Francis asked Narcisse sharply as he folded his arms and glared at him.

"Oh, hasn't anyone told you yet?" Narcisse asked him with a sneer, sounding a bit patronising. "I'm Mary Stuart's new Publicist. So it looks like you and I are going to be seeing a lot of each other…"

At this announcement, Francis seemed to go even paler. He shook his head, as though he couldn't believe what was happening. "We'll see," he muttered, cryptically.

Narcisse ignored him. "Shall we find you the perfect dress for the ball tonight, Your Highness?" he asked Mary with another smirk. "Something that will show the French royal family who's in charge-"

"I'm sure that Mary will look beautiful in whatever she _chooses_ to wear tonight," Francis interrupted him. It sounded as though he was speaking through gritted teeth.

Then, he suddenly looked a bit uncomfortable, as though he had just said something he shouldn't have said. His cheeks even looked a little flushed.

"We'll see," Narcisse shot back at him, sounding smug.

Mary still had no idea what was going on. She felt like she was missing something in this conversation; like she wasn't reading between the lines properly. She wondered what the history was between the two of them, as they clearly knew each other from somewhere.

Now that she was listening more carefully, Mary could definitely pick up on a hint of a French accent when Narcisse spoke. She hadn't noticed that before. What else hadn't she noticed?

"I'll leave you to get ready," Francis told Mary with a polite nod, his voice suddenly gentle again.

Narcisse smirked again, his expression triumphant, as though he had somehow won this round.

"Just so you know, Mary," Francis added, as he started to walk out of the room, "we have our own team here with us from France, should you require the assistance of any _competent_ staff members. " He made sure to glare at Narcisse as he said this. "We also have a team of highly trained _guards_ , should they be required," he added with a meaningful look in Narcisse's direction, before he left the room, slamming the door behind him.

"Well, that was rude," said Narcisse, the moment Francis left. He seemed rather amused by the exchange.

"What was all that about?" Mary asked Narcisse suspiciously.

"No idea," Narcisse responded with a shrug.

 _Of course he knows,_ Mary thought to herself as the rest of the Publicity Team returned to the television room. _He just won't tell you._

Narcisse had known all along that her parents would be setting her up with Francis Valois, too, Mary suddenly realised, as she thought about the events of the past couple of hours. She remembered how he'd bowed to her earlier, addressing her as 'Your Majesty' with a smirk on his face. She remembered how determined he'd been that she play this game very carefully, that she appear as a worthy opponent. All of that wouldn't have seemed so important, if Narcisse hadn't been fully aware in advance of the royal status of her 'opposition'.

She would have to be careful with Narcisse, she decided.

* * *

All too soon, the hair and makeup team had also arrived in the room, all of them eager to get started on getting her ready for the party this evening.

Mary found herself seated in front of a mirror, where everyone either fussed over her hair or frantically wiped the tears stains from her cheeks as they fixed her smudged mascara.

Mary ignored them, taking out her phone so she could have a look on the Internet for the initial reactions to today's show.

Already, people were making photo collages of her and Francis together on various social media sites, speculating as to what they would be like as a couple, and whether they looked like a good match.

Some viewers had also typed out all sorts of scenarios for imagined conversations that could take place after their meeting in the Throne Room, and others had written stories about their upcoming first dates.

It was almost as though the two of them were celebrities, or a fictional couple from the stories that Mary loved to read so much, and not real people with royal duties to fulfill.

She couldn't help sighing to herself as she continued to read all the posts about today's show, and the familiar feeling of despair threatened to take over again.

Things still looked fairly terrible, from where she was sitting, but after her conversation with Francis just now, she felt almost as though the exit door that her parents had tried so hard to seal had opened up a little, with Francis's help.

Neither of them had chosen this process, but Francis had at least offered to work with her, to help make things easier.

 _It's a start,_ she told herself.

As the disorder continued all around her in the television room, Mary put her phone down and allowed herself to get lost in her thoughts for a little while.

She'd been a broken woman, after that night at the French castle. Or a broken girl, more accurately. She'd managed to cover the bruises and the scratches with clever choices of outfits, of course, but the look of anguish on her face had been much harder to conceal; it had taken a lot more time to fade.

She had been so afraid, afraid that something like that would happen again, especially with all the threats against the royal family from the rioters and the protesters in Scotland.

She'd also been so scared that the French royal family would act upon Henry's threat to question her about the attack; that they would invent a false allegation.

It had been all too easy, back then, for her mother to convince her to leave her school in London and move back to Scotland permanently, where she would be under the watchful eye of the Scottish royal family twenty-four hours a day.

She'd spent her days drifting almost aimlessly around the castle, not knowing what to do with herself. She'd stared mournfully out of the windows all day, and suffered from nightmares all night.

And, in this state of fear and numbness, she'd allowed herself to be convinced to sign up for this whole matchmaking process in the first place, believing all the staff when they told her that she would be helping Scotland, that she would be providing the perfect distraction, which could reduce all the tension and the protests in the country.

The television show was something that she would probably never have agreed to, before that night in the French castle.

It was ironic, she couldn't help thinking to herself, as the discarded tiara was placed back on her head; that the prince who had helped to lead her down this path in the first place would now be joining her on the journey…


	5. Chapter 5

"Most girls would be _thrilled_ at the prospect of getting to date a prince…"

Mary blinked a few times, distracted. For the past few moments, she had been staring into the full-length mirror in the television room, getting a clear view of the dress she would be wearing for the ball, but Narcisse's words pulled her out of her daydream.

He was standing to her side, and Mary could see his refection in the mirror.

"Not me," she told him firmly, determinedly. She was not in the mood to play games right now.

Narcisse simply shrugged and smirked. He seemed almost impressed by her answer, and Mary imagined that she had passed yet another one of his mysterious tests.

"I hope the dress is to your liking, at least?" he asked her, almost dubiously, when Mary went back to staring at the dress in the mirror.

This evening gown was made of black silk, and it was rather more elegant than the lace dress she'd worn earlier. Her stylists had also accessorised the expensive dress with even more expensive jewellery, which included diamond earrings and necklaces and bracelets. And of course her tiara. She was almost dazzled, every time the glittering jewels reflected back at her through the mirror. And not in a good way.

"I know it perhaps wouldn't be your own personal choice," Narcisse added. He actually sounded a bit apologetic, this time.

Mary sighed. She had tried her best, in the time since Francis had left the room, to persuade the Publicity Team to allow her to wear a dress of her choice tonight, the way she had done for the opening ceremony, but this time, Narcisse hadn't granted her wish.

He'd gone on and on about how she would make Scotland look weak, if she showed up in an evening gown that looked plain and simple, especially in comparison to the expensive clothes that Francis and his father would no doubt wear, but deep down, Mary suspected that her mother had intervened at some point, and Queen Marie had probably insisted that Narcisse dress Mary up in something much more formal than the lace dress for tonight's party.

"It's fine," said Mary, not wanting to get into a discussion about her lack of choices right now. If she did, it would only cause her feelings of anger towards her mother to increase.

For a few more minutes, Narcisse briefed her on all the questions that the journalists attending the party would probably ask her tonight, and Mary rehearsed her answers with him, reciting the full name of the Italian designer who had designed her dress, and basic information about the diamonds she was wearing, as well as her initial thoughts on the opening ceremony, and then more phrases focusing on how she was waiting to see how things played out, when it came to arranging the first date that would take place as part of the show. She kept that rehearsed answer brief. She didn't even want to think about the actual dating part of the show just yet.

After a little while, Mary started to feel overwhelmed again, especially as Narcisse's assistants and all of the stylists were becoming increasingly loud and frantic as the time for their expected arrival at the ballroom drew ever closer.

"Will you excuse me for a moment?" Mary asked Narcisse, her tone almost pleading now. She wasn't even sure if he would let her leave the room-her mother had probably told him not to-but she had to try.

"I'll stay right outside," she promised Narcisse, when he looked at her with a very uncertain expression on his face.

She meant it, this time. There would be no point in running now. The guards would find her.

Finally, Narcisse nodded. "I'll instruct the rest of the team to give you some privacy, for the next few minutes," he promised her.

"Thank you," said Mary, before she started to head out of the room. A little voice in her head told her that it might be unwise to get into the habit of negotiating with Narcisse and making promises with him, especially after his exchange with Francis before, but right now, she didn't really feel like she had anybody else to turn to.

* * *

When she was safely outside the television room, Mary sat herself down on a spare seat just a little further down the corridor. She noted that it was rather difficult to sit down and get comfortable in this dress, and she let out yet another sigh of exasperation.

Automatically, Mary reached for her phone, which she'd hidden away in an inner pocket of her dress when she started to get ready.

She'd left her social media pages open on her phone, where she'd been reading a thread of comments about the opening ceremony. For a minute or so, she scrolled through a few more of these comments...

 _Mary Stuart is so lucky!_ one teenage girl had written. _She gets to live in a castle, and now she gets to marry a prince!_

 _I wish_ my _parents would set me up with a prince!_ another had written.

Again, Mary sighed to herself. Of course this is how it would look, to those watching from the outside. How ungrateful she would seem, if she ever complained in public about the situation her family had put her in.

Yet things were different, from inside the castle walls. This would be no fairy tale; Mary could not simply marry a handsome prince and live happily ever after. With every great privilege came even greater responsibility, as James always told her.

Finally, she minimised the comments page and ran a search for other information that she'd been planning on looking into. She'd already decided that she needed to know as much as possible about the French royal family from now on, in order to stay one step ahead of them, and she was eager to get started on her research.

There definitely seemed to be a common pattern in the most recent news articles from the French papers that Mary had pulled up in her search…

 _Attacks in France at a Record Low!_

 _French Government Tightens Security!_

 _French Royal Family backs Government in Zero-tolerance Security Policy!_

 _More Arrests of Suspected Rebels!_

 _Riot Suspects taken in for Questioning!_

Mary read through the headlines, one after another. Was this the reason why her parents had set her up with Francis? Were they hoping that an alliance with France would bring extra security to Scotland? Were they hoping to prevent further rebellions in Mary's home country, whatever the cost?

"Ah, Mary!"

Mary was startled by the sound of her brother's voice, calling out to her from further down the corridor. She stared at him in surprise for a few moments. She hadn't expected to see James until later on, at the party.

He walked briskly towards her. Mary noticed that someone else was with him, although in the relative darkness of the corridor, she couldn't quite make out who it was.

Hurriedly, Mary hid her phone in her pocket, although she wasn't sure why she was acting like she had something to hide.

"Mary!" James said again when he reached her. He stopped and stood over her while she remained seated. For some reason, he was grinning, like he knew some sort of secret that his younger sister didn't yet know.

Mary frowned at him in confusion, wondering what he could possibly look so happy about.

"Mary," he told her, "I'd like to introduce you to one of our newest members of staff…"

Mary continued to stare at her brother through narrowed eyes, silently asking him why it was so important to introduce her to new staff members at a time like this, when she could barely think clearly, but then the person who had been standing behind James stepped out of the shadows, and Mary temporarily forgot about everything else that was going on as she stared at this person with wide eyes.

She couldn't believe it. It was the boy she'd encountered in the village earlier. The boy with the blue eyes.

She remembered now, how she'd seen him out the window earlier, too, walking up the long path leading towards the castle.

She'd wondered before, what he was doing at the castle, and she'd half-hoped that _he_ would be the boy who her parents were going to set her up with, but after that, she'd attended the opening ceremony, and he hadn't been there, and then Francis had walked through the door leading to the Throne Room, and everything else that had happened earlier in the day had faded into the background the moment Francis stood in front of her.

Now, it made sense that she had seen this young man walking towards the castle earlier. He was going to be working here. What a strange miracle that was.

"Mary, let me introduce you to Sebastian," said James, as though he and Mary hadn't already walked past him in the village earlier in the day. "He's recently been employed to work here with the other new staff at the castle. I thought it would be a good idea to introduce all our new staff to everyone, so we can all work together…"

How smoothly James lied, Mary thought. How easily he concealed the truth. What else did James hide, behind the mask of duty he wore every day?

"Sebastian," said Mary, not really knowing how she was supposed to react.

It was almost strange, to know that this boy with blue eyes had a name; to see that he was actually here, right now, in the castle where she lived. Especially after all those subtle glances in the village, when Mary had passed him as though from a great distance, not even within his orbit. Until now.

"Bash," Sebastian cut into the conversation as he leaned forward to shake Mary's hand, as though he really was meeting her for the first time. Apparently, James had found a willing accomplice in his lies.

"Bash," Mary repeated, feeling a bit silly now.

She just wasn't sure what else she was supposed to say, especially when her protective older brother was currently watching her, waiting for her reaction.

She supposed she would have to get better at this sort of thing, especially if she was going to convincingly go out on dates with Francis, with the whole nation watching.

"Sebastian will be working in the stables, with the horses," James continued. "He'll be attending the ball tonight, too."

To a casual observer, James would sound cool, distant, aloof, almost, as though Bash's attendance at the ball was of no particular importance to him. But Mary caught a hint of smirk on his face as he spoke the words, and she knew what was going on behind the performance...

This was what he was giving her, in exchange for her co-operation in playing along with the matchmaking show, or perhaps as a way of apologising for not telling her about Francis when she'd asked him earlier.

He was giving her glimpses of this handsome young man from the castle windows. He was giving her the occasional interaction, or a stolen smirk or a wink in her direction.

For one guilty moment, Mary couldn't help thinking about a speech made by a Scottish rebel that she'd heard on the news fairly recently:

" _Just when things become unbearable, and we threaten to rebel, they throw us scraps to keep us quiet!"_

Mary shook her head, trying to clear that thought from her mind. She knew it wasn't healthy, to be thinking that way right now.

"Mary, I'm Mary," she babbled, even though she knew she probably sounded ridiculous, especially when Bash looked so confident.

"I know," he told her with her smirk, his eyes seeming to twinkle even in the dark corridor.

Mary noticed that he hadn't let go of her hand yet.

"A-hem..."

Mary jumped at the sound of Narcisse clearing his throat, even though she was used to hearing him by now.

She turned around and saw him standing in the doorway.

Hurriedly, Mary let go of Sebastian's hand. Again, she couldn't help feeling guilty-especially as Narcisse was regarding Bash with a raised eyebrow-even though she didn't know why she felt that way. Francis wasn't her boyfriend, and she highly doubted that he truly wanted her to be his girlfriend.

"The ball will be starting soon," said Narcisse. He sounded a little impatient, and Mary suspected that she'd stayed outside the television room for longer than Narcisse had planned.

"I'll see you later, Your Grace," said Sebastian with a bow. His tone of voice was suddenly formal, and all hints of the mocking smirk and the twinkle in his eyes were gone now that they had an audience. He turned and started to head down the corridor, with James following in his footsteps.

"Are you ready?" Narcisse asked her, the moment James and Sebastian had left.

"No," Mary told him honestly, "but let's go anyway."

She didn't want to put with anymore fussing and bickering from the hair and makeup team. She just wanted to get this evening over with.

* * *

Narcisse allowed Mary to walk ahead as they headed down several flights of stairs towards the ballroom.

All of Mary's stylists and her Publicity Team followed from a discreet distance-just out of view of any cameras that might take photos as Mary walked towards the ballroom, but close enough that they would be there if she needed them.

Mary concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other; she focused on not tripping over her dress or her own feet. She kept her head up, trying to look proud, strong. Nobody would know that she'd sat in the television room crying her eyes out only a couple of hours ago, lost in one of her worst memories. Except Francis.

When she arrived outside the large double doors that marked the main entrance to the castle's ballroom, there was already a flurry of activity going on.

She saw that Francis and his father were surrounded by their own staff from the French castle, all of them either trying to fix Francis's hair and tie, or holding various phones and papers up in the prince's face, still expecting him to attend to official documents, even right before a party was due to take place. Kings were never truly off duty.

She also noticed that Francis had changed out of his casual jeans and white jumper. Now, he looked smart in an elegant suit, with a tiny French flag pinned to his jacket pocket.

As Mary approached the French royals tentatively, Henry sneered at her, the way he always did, and Francis abruptly stopped talking to his staff members about issues in France. He seemed to freeze to the spot in Mary's presence.

After a few moments of awkward silence, in which Francis stared at her almost intently, opening and closing his mouth a few times as though he had something he wanted to say to her but couldn't find the words, he finally seemed to give up with a shrug.

Mary couldn't help wondering what it was about her presence that always made him look so tense.

With another sneer, Henry left Francis's side and started to head into the ballroom. "The cameras are watching, Francis," he muttered cryptically to his son before he walked away, while Francis scowled at his retreating back.

Feeling tense herself, Mary glanced over her shoulder to see if Narcisse was still standing behind her, but he and the rest of her team had apparently vanished from view at some point. Mary guessed that they had most likely already entered the ballroom. She was on her own with the future king of France now.

She tried her best to compose herself, as the camera crew had just arrived to film their entrance into the ballroom for the television show.

"Are you ready?" she asked Francis, as two members of the television crew started to open the double doors.

"As ready as I'll ever be," he replied, with almost a hint of a smile. He looked slightly more relaxed, now that his father wasn't here.

Then he was all-business again as the doors opened and the cameras started rolling.

Mary nodded as they both got into position, trying at the same time to stay calm. The two of them were expected to walk into the ballroom together while the cameras filmed them, and Mary therefore didn't want to make a mess of their entrance.

Francis looked a lot more composed than she felt; he was standing tall and proud, with his hands clasped behind his back. Every inch a future king.

Mary had only taken a few steps into the room when she suddenly caught sight of the three steps that led from the main doors down to the polished wooden floor of the dance floor. She'd forgotten about those steps.

She suddenly felt a rush of panic that she wouldn't be able to get down the stairs; that her heels would be too high, or she would step on the hem of her dress. It didn't help that she was walking into a ballroom that looked vaguely similar to the one in the French castle, with Francis Valois by her side, and the bad memories still fresh in her mind.

"What do I do?" she whispered almost frantically to Francis, hating that she sounded so vulnerable right now. Hating that she was asking him for advice. She had known all along that she wasn't cut out for this royalty thing.

"Here," he whispered, without any sort of hesitation. Quickly, Francis held his hand out to her, and Mary took it, trying not to grip it too tight as they both started to descend the stairs.

It was strange, Mary thought, how Francis seemed to wake up during moments of stress or conflict. It was like he was more 'himself' in those more urgent moments.

"You can use your other hand to hold onto your dress, if that would be easier," Francis suddenly whispered, his lips barely moving as he offered her instructions as to how to walk without tripping over. Apparently, he had mastered the art of carrying out private conversations without being heard by the public. "And we'll walk slowly, if you'd prefer?"

Mary could only nod as she continued to take slow, tentative steps down the stairs. She tried not to speculate as to how many other girls he had walked with into rooms like this, hand-in-hand. Whether he still did things like this with Olivia. At the very least, Francis seemed to be keeping to the tentative alliance that they'd made in the television room earlier. Perhaps they really could both help each other get through this process.

The rows of guests who were watching them avidly all smiled when they noticed their joined hands. Mary sighed to herself. There would no doubt be articles about this later, claiming that the hand-holding was some sort of sign that their romance was officially getting started.

The ballroom was nowhere near as grand as the one in 'Chateau Valois', but it was beautiful in its own way: the cream-coloured walls were decorated with various golden patterns, including those of a lion and a unicorn-a couple of emblems of Scotland-and the domed ceiling was held up by various pillars that ran all the way down to the floor.

There were several circular tables that had been positioned around the room, where guests would be able to sit and talk and eat and drink. A medium-sized chandelier hung from the ceiling, and there was also a piano in the far corner of the room.

Mary knew that her mother was watching her from one corner of the ballroom, but she determinedly avoided meeting the queen's gaze. She had no wish to talk to her mother tonight.

She realised that her parents must have hired a live band for the evening's entertainment, as a few men in suits were setting up microphones around a cluster of musical instruments.

As soon as they had made their official entrance into the ballroom, both Mary and Francis were ushered over to opposite sides of the room, where various journalists were lined up, ready to ask them questions for the interviews that they would publish in their magazines. There were also several members of the press present, standing between the journalists, ready to take their photos.

Trying to look as calm and as graceful as possible, Mary moved down the line of journalists and photographers, answering all of their questions about who had designed her dress, and giving them the necessary historical information about the diamonds that she had been permitted to wear tonight.

She decided to answer candidly when several journalists asked her about the opening ceremony, telling them that she had been really nervous, in the hope that this would explain away her rabbit-trapped-in-headlights look-an image that would no doubt be plastered all over tomorrow's magazines and newspapers.

After that, she even managed to joke about her less-than-perfect skills in speaking the French language, laughing with them all about how she would probably have to improve now. She realised that it was so much easier to interact with the media, when she was speaking in honesty.

Eventually, she swapped sides with Francis, and Mary went through the answering-questions process all over again with the journalists on the other side of the ballroom, only pausing now and again to take sips from the glass of water that her older brother had helpfully brought over for her. She had a feeling that James would be going out of his way to help her out for a little while, more out of guilt than anything else. She would have to be very careful to not take advantage of his generosity; to not push him into breaking anymore rules with her.

When she got to the end of the second line of journalists, Mary was interrupted by Lola, who was waiting for her with an eager expression on her face.

"Mary," she asked her, the second she had Mary's full attention, "can we dance with Francis tonight?"

Blinking, Mary looked behind Lola to see a group of other women who also worked at the castle, all of them with eager expressions that matched Lola's.

"Of course," Mary replied quickly, trying not to sound too surprised that they were asking her permission. It was strange, how they felt that they had to ask her; almost as though Francis was somehow _hers_.

Finally, the live band started playing the opening notes of a song.

Just as she started to wonder whether she would be expected to dance with Francis tonight, Mary was led to the middle of the dance floor by a member of the television crew, where her father already stood waiting, a nervous-looking grin on his face, as though he wasn't sure if Mary would be ready to talk to him just yet.

Apparently, the show's producers thought that it would be fitting for her to share an opening dance with her father.

Obediently, Mary stood opposite her father. With a bow, they both started to dance together. Mary was well-rehearsed when it came to dances like this-this is how many official parties at royal and political events got started. And yet, it felt so strange, to be the centre of attention, with all eyes in the room on her. Mary was so used to hiding away at events like these, confined to the background while all the attention was on her brother.

There was a tense silence for a couple of minutes before her father finally spoke. "Oh, Mary. Mary, Mary, Mary…" he babbled, sounding genuinely at a loss as to what to say or do at the moment.

He sounded so dejected, and so apologetic, that Mary found it difficult to stay angry at him.

"Father, what's the matter?" she asked him in a whisper, as the cameras continued to film. This 'party' was nothing more than a glorified television show episode, and Mary knew it. She also knew that she would therefore have to be careful about not being overheard.

"The books just won't balance this month, Mary," he replied with a sigh. "They just won't balance…"

Sometimes, it seemed to Mary that her father lived in his own little world, conducting private conversations in his head, but still, she had nearly always been able to pick up on what he was talking about.

"I'm sure we'll work something out," she tried to reassure him, although she wasn't sure if they would 'work something out'. Not when it came to money in Scotland. She wondered if this was another reason why her mother wanted Scotland to ally with France-for economic purposes.

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed that Lola had wasted no time in asking Francis to dance. The two of them were laughing at some sort of private joke as they danced together, and Francis actually looked comfortable, spending time with Lola. More comfortable than he usually looked when he was around Mary. Mary wasn't sure why this bothered her so much.

She saw that Francis's father, Henry, was uncharacteristically hidden away in a far corner of the room, deep in conversation with a woman with dark hair. Mary felt another flicker of recognition as she looked at the woman, even though she was fairly certain that she'd never seen her here before.

"Nothing seems balanced at the moment, Mary," her father added, with a pointed look at her. "And for that, I'm so, so sorry-"

"Father, please do not worry," Mary told him firmly, hoping that she at least sounded sincere. "I'll be fine. We'll all get through this, together."

She could lie just as convincingly as her brother, and she knew it.

Looking slightly reassured by Mary's words, her father continued to dance with her until the end of the song, when he moved aside so that Aloysius could dance with Mary instead.

Mary spent the next couple of songs reassuring Lord Castleroy that she was fine, and that she'd just been feeling a little nervous earlier, when she'd run out of the Throne Room. And yes, of course she was looking forward to her first date with Francis.

She was grateful when he changed the subject at last and started talking about his upcoming wedding to Greer.

From over Castleroy's shoulder, she watched as Francis danced with one of Lola's work colleagues, before he shared another dance with Lola.

As Mary looked from Francis to all of the women who were watching him with expressions of barely-disguised adoration, she realised that he really did look like the stereotypical handsome prince from some sort of fairy tale. Like a Prince Charming. She could see why all these girls were so fascinated with him.

If somebody had asked her to sketch a picture of a typical prince from a story book, she probably would have drawn a young man who looked similar to Francis, complete with the wavy blond hair and a formal suit. Yet she also knew that in reality, he was much more than a cardboard cut-out of a prince, and perhaps this was what scared her the most.

Would she have drawn herself next to Francis, as his princess? She wasn't sure…

Again, an image of white petals appeared in her mind, but still, she couldn't place the memory. But now, she suspected that it had something to do with a prince and a princess.

After another dance with Lola, Francis left the dance floor to take a break. He leaned against one of the pillars on the right-hand side of the room, still close to all the goings-on in the room.

King Henry remained hidden away in the far corner, apparently happy to let his son take centre-stage, if only for tonight.

Every now and again, Mary had the strange feeling that Francis was watching her as she danced, but whenever she looked right at him, he seemed to look away. Or perhaps he hadn't even been looking at her in the first place, and Mary was only imagining things.

Aloysius had to leave the party early, to get back to Greer and the children, so, as the next song began to play, Mary went to dance with her brother, who had just joined her on the dance floor.

At the same time, she noticed that Bash had just walked into the room. Immediately, he walked over to Francis and introduced himself.

Francis shook his hand with a smile, looking genuinely happy that there was another young man around his age at the castle, and the two of them got into conversation, both of them laughing and joking with one another.

Mary wasn't sure why this new-found friendship between Francis and Sebastian made her feel so uneasy. It was almost as though they might accidentally end up revealing secrets about _her_ to one another, although Mary wasn't entirely sure what those secrets were.

As she watched Francis and Bash, she couldn't help noticing some sort of resemblance between the two of them, even though they looked so different. Perhaps it something in their body language, or their mutual gestures…

"Mary, the cameras are watching," James suddenly whispered to her, pulling her out of her thoughts.

Mary shrugged apologetically. James must have noticed her looking at Bash.

"I suppose Sebastian was the best _possible_ man for the job at the castle," she fired back at her brother, keeping her tone of voice mocking, sarcastic. "And I suppose _you_ happened to be on the interview panel?"

"Something like that," James replied, a hint of a smirk on his face, reminding Mary of the more rebellious boy from her childhood, before his sense of 'duty and honour' had taken over completely.

 _Run away with me, James!_ she desperately wanted to plead with him. _We could go tonight, if we really wanted to. We could sneak out of the castle windows, just like on that night in France. We could run, and run, and run; we could finally get away from all of this! I wouldn't have to appear on television, and you wouldn't have to go through with your ridiculous wedding to Lady Kenna. You wouldn't have to pretend anymore, if you truly are pretending. We could both marry who we wanted; maybe we could live among the rebels…_

 _Stop_! Mary told herself. This was childish; this was ridiculous. They would never get away, and James would never agree to it, anyway.

Trying to keep her expression neutral, she continued to dance with her brother, discreetly looking over James's shoulder every now and again to stare at Sebastian and Francis. As strange as the thought seemed to her, Mary really felt like these two men represented her only two options from this point on.

Yet, as far as her parents were concerned, there was no choice. There had only ever been _one_ option.

The song ended, and Mary and James were interrupted by Narcisse, who cut in to ask Mary to dance.

As Narcisse wrapped an arm around her waist, Mary noticed that Francis was glaring furiously in her and Narcisse's direction. Again, Mary couldn't help wondering what it was about Narcisse that bothered Francis so much.

"How am I doing?" she asked Narcisse, deciding that it would be pointless to ask him about his history with Francis right now.

"They're impressed, so far," Narcisse muttered, almost cryptically, in her ear.

Mary wasn't sure who 'they' were.

"I'll help you get through this," he continued to whisper. "We can help each other."

Mary frowned at him, unsure as to what he meant by the two of them helping each other.

She distracted herself by surveying the room again from over Narcisse's shoulder. She noticed that Bash seemed to be making himself very popular with most of the women in the room; he flirted with them confidently, smirking and winking and running a hand through his hair the whole time, while groups of women fussed over him, all-too-eager to bring him drinks.

Mary looked around for Francis again, and she saw that he had joined Lola for yet another dance. She felt another flicker of irritation, although she reminded herself that it was ridiculous to feel that way. She had told Lola that she could dance with Francis, after all.

Narcisse followed her gaze, and a mischievous grin crept to his face.

"Excuse me," he muttered, before he let go of Mary, bowed to her and hurried away in Francis and Lola's direction before Mary could stop him.

"Can I cut in?" she heard him ask Francis, his tone of voice sounding almost patronising as he stood between Francis and Lola and took hold of Lola's hand before Francis could give him his permission.

Lola seemed oblivious to what was going on, as she just looked happy for the chance to dance with Narcisse, but Mary didn't miss the smug smirk on Narcisse's face as he pulled Lola away from Francis, or the glare that Francis gave Narcisse as he started to dance with Lola.

Mary had the distinct feeling that Francis actually looked like he would have hit Narcisse, if they hadn't been in a public place with cameras filming them both.

Mary felt troubled by the whole scene that was playing out in front of her. She wasn't sure if Francis was glaring at Narcisse because Narcisse had deliberately antagonised him, or because he actually missed dancing with Lola.

She also wasn't sure if Narcisse genuinely had feelings for Lola, or if he was simply using her to get to Francis.

Before she could sink any further into troubled thoughts, Sebastian suddenly appeared in front of Mary, holding out his arms eagerly, waiting for her to take his hand for a dance, and somehow managing to wink at one of the young women who worked on Mary's father's accounting team at the same time.

"Your Grace," he whispered with a smirk, the moment Mary was in his arms, "you look radiant tonight, like the sun."

"Do you flirt with _everybody_?" Mary asked him with a frown.

"Absolutely everybody," Bash replied with a grin, without a hint of embarrassment.

Mary made a show of rolling her eyes in apparent disapproval, but she couldn't help the grin that crept to _her_ face. Something about Bash intrigued her.

She noticed that Francis had now got into conversation with James, the two of them standing with their hands clasped behind their backs as they conversed.

For as happy as he'd looked when he was talking to Bash, Francis now looked equally happy to have found a fellow heir-to-the-throne to talk to.

 _You traitor..._ Mary thought as she caught James's eye, but there was no real malice in her mock glare.

She was sure it would be helpful to James in the long run, to strike up a potentially powerful alliance with another king.

"You are not alone here," Sebastian whispered in her ear as the final notes of the song played.

"Thank you, Sebastian," Mary told him with a nod of her head, sounding very formal but secretly feeling grateful that he was offering her some sort of support. She recognised a rebellious spirit when she saw one. Perhaps they could help each other, in some way.

With a bow, the two of them parted at the end of the dance.

Instantly, there was another young woman waiting to take Mary's place in Bash's arms.

Mary was just about to head over to make polite conversation with Francis and James when Lola suddenly ran over to her with a grin on her face.

"Mary, dance with me!" she insisted, as she grabbed hold of Mary's hand, leading her back towards the middle of the dance floor.

Lola sounded so enthusiastic that Mary didn't have the heart to refuse her.

As the beat of the song picked up, Mary ended up dancing around in circles with Lola, the two of them spinning each other around. She couldn't help laughing along with her new friend, realising that she was actually having fun. For so long, Mary had only really had James for company, so all of this was new to her. She had to admit that she was enjoying it.

She felt almost like an ordinary girl who was attending a party with another female friend, the two of them laughing and giggling without a care in the world.

She felt the eyes of Francis, Bash _and_ Narcisse on her and Lola as they danced, although she couldn't be sure who was looking at whom.

* * *

After dancing to a few more songs with Lola, Mary excused herself and stepped out of the ballroom to take a much-needed break.

Defying her father's orders to stay right outside the room, Mary decided to take a stroll through some of the nearby corridors. A part of her was searching for James, as she'd seen him walk out of the ballroom a few minutes ago.

It didn't take long before she spotted him, leaning against a wall in a corridor close by, almost in darkness.

Mary was just about to walk over to him, when she saw that there was somebody else with him, somebody who Mary really didn't want to talk to right now…

"How dare you!"

Mary heard the distinct sound of her mother's voice as she shouted at James. She frowned. It was so unlike her mother, to get angry at James. Usually, he was the 'golden child', playing by all the rules, while Mary broke them.

Feeling intrigued, she hid herself away around the nearest corner, discreetly looking around it every now and again as she listened in on the conversation.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," James replied to their mother.

"Oh, don't play games with me, James! We both know you're too old for that now! You know _exactly_ what I'm talking about!"

"I'm just trying to make things easier for her," James mumbled, sounding a little sheepish.

"No, you're just trying to distract her!" Mary's mother accused him in a furious whisper. "And heaven knows she doesn't need any more distractions right now!"

Mary sighed as she continued to listen in on the conversation, knowing that they could only be talking about her.

"So, what will you do?" James asked, with a hint of defiance in his voice now. "Will you just dismiss Sebastian from the stables?"

"You know I can't do that!" the queen hissed back at him. "The Prime Minister and I have just delivered a speech to the country about equal rights in the workplace! I can't look like a hypocrite in my own home! Not when there are already so many threats from the rebels out on the streets! I trusted you with those interviews, James! And now you've put me in a very awkward position! Again! There's something between them, and you knew it all along! Did you not see the way that he was all over her, at the ball just now?"

"Sebastian is no threat to your little matchmaking scheme," James hissed back at her. "Mary has changed over the past couple of years. You know that she'll play the game just as well as Francis…"

"You'd better hope so," Mary's mother whispered as Mary felt that usual feeling of despair threaten to overtake her. "We have found her the _perfect_ husband; you'd better make sure that _nobody_ gets in the way of that engagement-or heaven help this country!"

With that, she stormed off.

After a few seconds, James followed her.

* * *

Mary had to blink back furious tears as she processed her mother's words. Whatever else was going on, her mother was trying to make sure that there was no way out of this royal matchmaking scheme for Mary. She would not allow her an inch of freedom…

Suddenly, Mary heard the distinct sound of footsteps behind her, along with the sound of heavy breathing.

She jumped, startled, and hurriedly turned around to see who had crept up on her.

But when she turned around, she realised that there was nobody there. Double-checking, Mary glanced from left to right, and she took a few steps back around the corner, but still the corridor was empty.

"Hello?" she called out into the darkness, just in case. She was met by only silence.

With her heart still racing, Mary told herself that she'd only imagined the presence of somebody else in the corridor.

It was just like before, when she'd been running back towards the television room and she'd been certain for a moment that she actually saw somebody watching her.

Mary decided that now would probably be a good time to head to bed to try to get some rest. She had had a long day, and she was overtired, and her mind was probably playing tricks on her.

As the grandfather clock standing against the nearest wall struck midnight, Mary suddenly realised that she had not even shared one dance with Francis at the ball.


	6. Chapter 6

"Father, you are not well…"

Francis stood opposite his father in the Scottish castle's entrance hall, sharing a final conversation with him before the king departed to head back to France for a little while, where his presence was required. Royal duties always had to take priority over anything else; that is what Francis's parents had taught him from birth.

As his father shouted orders to his staff about how his luggage should be handled, Francis couldn't help noticing that he looked much paler than usual, and he felt it necessary to voice his concerns.

"Stop fussing, Francis!" his father snapped at him, the way he always did. His father's health was an especially sensitive issue at the moment. "Besides," the king sneered, "right now, that's the least of _your_ worries…"

For a moment, Francis was tempted to disagree with him. His father's condition definitely seemed like a very troubling concern for Francis right now.

He worried for his father on a personal level, of course, in spite of their rather strained relationship over the years, but his fear ran deeper than that. As selfish as Francis knew it would seem to some, ever since the king of France had fallen into ill health, Francis had spent many a sleepless night thinking about the fact that if anything were to happen to his father, as the heir to the throne, _he_ would become a king almost overnight, with all of the duty and the responsibility on _his_ shoulders at a young age. Or the burden, as many would say.

He didn't feel ready to be a king just yet, and there was never enough time to prepare.

"Can you at least promise you'll get some rest when you return to France?" he asked his father, folding his arms as he raised an eyebrow pointedly at him, trying his best not to sound like he was pleading.

His father did nothing but sneer back at him.

He wished that his father would stop taking unnecessary risks and pushing himself to the limit.

"And please, send my best wishes to Olivia, when you get home…" Francis sighed as he finished his sentence. His mother had already told him in their most recent phone conversation that Olivia was still finding things difficult, especially now that a photo of Mary and Francis holding hands as they entered the ballroom together had appeared in several French magazines.

He and Olivia hadn't actually been a couple for quite a while, but still, it was difficult to let go of the past sometimes.

His father merely grunted in response, looking disapproving of Francis's sentimentality. His actions left Francis unsure as to whether the king was actually going to do as he asked.

With his father suddenly distracted by the various staff members who were carrying his luggage to the royal car that waited outside, Francis returned to his troubled thoughts…

Would he be expected to tell Mary about his history with Olivia? Or worse, would he have to tell her the real reason why they broke up?

Already, there were too many other secrets he knew he would have to share with Mary, if there was going to be any chance of things working out between them, not least the fact that Francis becoming a king in the near future was a very real possibility. She would have to know the truth about Francis's father's poor health, and the role that might be waiting just around the corner as a consequence, so she could make an informed decision…

But then, Francis's mind drifted to all of the events that had unfolded in Scotland recently-the opening ceremony, the conversation in the television room, the ball last night...and he had to admit, if only to himself, that perhaps his father had a point when he told him he had other things to worry about. Maybe there were more pressing matters at hand at the moment than his typical day-to-day concerns.

Unbidden, an image of a smirking Narcisse appeared in his mind, and Francis felt a jolt of anger.

 _Stephane Narcisse, of all people! How had he found his way here, to this little-known castle in Scotland? How had he managed to win over the Scottish royal family?_

Francis felt a flicker of fear on Mary's behalf. He didn't doubt Mary's judgement for a moment, but he wondered if she had any idea just how cunning and manipulative Narcisse could be.

Back in France, Narcisse had been known for his smooth talk, and his 'subtle' threats, and his skill at conveniently making problems 'disappear'. If ever there had been bribery or corruption going on, Narcisse had usually been behind it all, somewhere.

His under-handed methods had once made him a popular Publicist for royals and celebrities alike, until he'd found employment at the French castle.

During his time at the castle, Narcisse had grown rather close to Francis's mother, acting as a willing accomplice to her typical schemes.

Francis couldn't help shuddering. He dreaded to think just _how_ close Narcisse had been to his mother.

Francis had actually believed that Narcisse had done his worst with a few of his not-so-pleasant schemes in the castle, but the events that Narcisse and his family had been implicated in afterwards had proved otherwise…

Again, Francis shuddered, as his memories of the attack on the castle by rebels two years ago-and everything that had unfolded in the aftermath-threatened to take over. It was always difficult to fight his way out of those memories, and he didn't want to think about all of that right now.

However, it was much harder to forget that Narcisse had vowed, just before he left France, that he would get revenge on the Valois family for what he perceived to be their wrongdoing, one day.

At the time, Francis hadn't even taken Narcisse's threat seriously. But now he was here, in Scotland, somehow involved in this matchmaking process, working directly with Mary.

Knowing Narcisse as he had once known him, Francis feared that he would soon make himself indispensable to Mary, to the point where she would think that she couldn't face the public without his 'wisdom' and 'guidance'. He had a habit of getting into people's heads like that.

If by some miracle he and Mary ended up married after all this, Francis had a horrible feeling that she would eventually wish to employ Narcisse as her permanent assistant, which would bring him right back to French court, ensuring that he was ideally placed for any planned acts of revenge.

And then, if he couldn't get to Francis through Mary, Francis had his suspicions that he would do so through Lola instead.

Francis had seen at last night's ball, the way that Lola and Narcisse had looked at each other. Something was clearly about to happen between the two of them. Normally, Francis wouldn't have cared too much about the relationships of others, but Lola had seemed like a nice enough girl-she had seemed concerned about him, asking him how he was finding the whole matchmaking process and how he was coping with the constant presence of journalists, and she had been so positive in her views about Mary as a person, telling Francis repeatedly how _nice_ and how _kind_ Mary was, sounding almost like a teenager who was trying to fix her friend up with a boy, which had been amusing, in its own way. Francis didn't know her very well, but he wasn't overly keen on the idea of a girl like Lola getting caught up in Narcisse's typical scheming and backstabbing.

Not to mention the fact that at the ball last night, Lola had talked to everyone as though Mary was already the queen of France. In Lola's eyes, Mary and Francis were practically engaged, and Mary was already her friend, not to mention a potential future employer who could offer Lola an important role working with her in France, away from the watchful eyes of Queen Marie. Francis wasn't sure if things would truly work out that way, but he would hate for Narcisse to be the one to ruin all of Lola's dreams. Because any role for Lola that involved working closely with Mary in the future could potentially provide Narcisse with another link to French royalty, if something happened between Lola and Narcisse, and Francis was determined that that simply couldn't happen.

Should he tell Mary about all of these private thoughts? Should he tell her the _whole_ truth about his history with Narcisse? Beyond what she would probably find out for herself, in the end? Should he talk about all the things he hadn't talked about since the attack on the castle?

Francis supposed he would have to, eventually-for Mary's own safety, if nothing else-but already, he was dreading that particular conversation. He suspected that Mary would think he was trying to interfere; trying to tell her what to do and who to hire and fire. He also worried that she would think that this was just a case of a personal grudge between him and Narcisse, rather than a greater political issue.

As he thought again about the events of last night, Francis's thoughts drifted back to Mary, the way they so often did.

He suspected that he'd already made a mess of things at the ball, with his awkward behaviour. When he first saw Mary outside the ballroom at the start of the evening, he'd really wanted to tell her that she looked beautiful, but he hadn't been able to find the words, and he'd worried that he'd say it wrong, or that she would think he was only complimenting her for the sake of the cameras. And then the moment had passed.

After that, he had worried about whether he would be expected to ask her to dance. Francis had never been particularly fond of dancing, especially in the presence of cameras and royal families at formal events, but he would have put up with all that, for her, if she'd wanted to dance with him.

It was always like this, with Mary. He could flirt with girls and charm people when duty required it, but something about Mary in particular always made him shut down, leaving him feeling awkward and nervous and unable to string a sentence together in her presence, and even prone to tripping over his own feet, at times.

He remembered his years spent at school in London-all those times when he'd been out walking and he'd spotted her, usually looking in the windows of shops that sold rare artwork, or looking in the windows of second-hand book shops.

So many times, he'd wanted to walk up to her and strike up a conversation (usually encouraged by his crowd of smirking male friends from school-Francis's crush on Mary had always been common knowledge among them), but he'd never really been brave enough.

A few times, he'd started walking towards her only to turn back at the last second. One time, he'd got about halfway across the street before he'd tripped over his own feet in his nerves. Another time, he'd actually got all the way over, standing right next to her at a shop window, but she'd given him such a strange look that Francis had lost his nerve and he'd been forced to pretend that he too had just been there to look at the antique paintings in the window.

He tried to ignore the fact that his cheeks felt flushed in reaction to his memories of all of his attempts to talk to Mary in London. How pathetic she would think he was, if she knew.

And, true to form, Francis just hadn't had the courage to walk right up to her and ask her to dance at the ball, for fear of rejection, or fear of looking like an idiot, and then he'd been distracted by all the other girls who'd wanted to dance with him, as so often happened at parties where future kings were present, and Mary had had plenty of others asking _her_ to dance, too…

Francis remembered how he'd leaned against one of the pillars in the room, taking a break from dancing and trying to watch Mary discreetly without her noticing. Then, he'd spotted Sebastian out of the corner of his eye and he'd noticed that _he_ had been watching Mary, too, with a look of admiration written all over his face.

 _This was bound to happen_ , he'd told himself at the time. _Of course there will be others admiring her, too…_

Besides, Francis had got along well with Sebastian. From the moment he first shook his hand at the ball, he'd felt almost as though he knew him from somewhere, as though they'd met before, or like they'd known each other for years, and the conversation had flowed easily, in the same way that he'd found Mary's brother, James, so easy to talk to. Francis didn't want to have to dislike him.

But still, all of his reasoning hadn't eased the pang of jealousy that Francis felt as he watched Mary and Sebastian dance together and smile at each other.

"You need to focus, Francis!" his father suddenly snapped at him, as though he could read Francis's not-so-pleasant thoughts. "This is a television show, not some pathetic love story! And France needs the ratings and the positive publicity just as much as Scotland does. Play your part!"

Before Francis could answer, his father turned away from him and started walking towards the door. When he was standing in the doorway, he turned back to talk to him again…

"Remember, Francis," his father instructed him in barely more than a whisper, "duty always comes first."

With that, he turned away and headed out the door, without even a goodbye.

Francis simply scowled at his father's retreating back. As daunting as the idea of being on his own in this foreign castle seemed, perhaps it was for the best that he wouldn't have to deal with his father for a little while.

* * *

Breakfast that morning was a rather frosty affair for the Stuarts.

Often, they ate in the castle's main dining room on the ground floor, along with all of the staff and any visitors to the castle, but this time, Mary's mother had requested that the family meet in the smaller, more private dining room on the first floor, no doubt so that they could all talk about recent events without being overheard.

And yet, nobody was actually talking. A heavy silence seemed to hang in the air around them, as though they were all afraid to be the first to speak.

Mary buttered her croissant with a lot more force than was necessary, only pausing every now and again to look up and glare at her mother, who was sitting opposite her.

In other circumstances, Mary might have skipped breakfast altogether, but she knew that she had a photo shoot with Francis and some filming scheduled in the afternoon, and she was therefore trying to put off heading to the television room to get ready for as long as possible.

Mary's brother and father sat at either end of the table, the two of them looking awkward and uncomfortable, with James seemingly fascinated by whatever it was he was looking at on his phone, while Mary's father hid his face behind the newspaper he was currently reading.

Mary couldn't help noticing that the photo of her and Francis walking into the ballroom hand-in-hand had made it to the front page. She let out a sigh.

Finally, her mother was the one to break the silence:"So, Mary, what are your initial impressions of the matchmaking process? And Francis?" she added, almost tentatively.

Mary was tempted to ignore her, but then she remembered how her mother had shouted at James last night after the ball, and in her anger, she couldn't resist speaking: "He is blond!" she snapped at her mother, glaring at her accusingly as she thought about all the blond men that her mother had found attractive in the past. "And he is a prince!" This time, the accusing glare was aimed at both of her parents.

Her father stayed hidden behind his newspaper, but Mary noticed that his face seemed to have gone a bit red.

"You have set me up with _your_ perfect match!" she shouted, focusing on her mother again.

"Nonsense!" her mother sighed, dismissing Mary's accusation with a wave of her hand. "Besides, you adored Francis, when you were both children. You used to follow him around the castle in France, every time we visited, giggling and laughing the whole time. You always wrote about him in that journal you kept as a child, and you used to write both of your names together in hearts on every scrap of paper-"

"No, I didn't!" Mary protested, feeling indignant that her mother could even imagine she'd done such things. Yet for some reason, she felt her cheeks grow warmer at her mother's words.

"There is nothing stopping you from falling in love with Francis as an adult, if only you would stop searching for distractions!" her mother insisted.

Feeling suddenly uncomfortable, Mary pushed her chair back, deciding that she'd eaten enough breakfast. She made sure to slam her butter knife down on the wooden table as she stood up.

"You have three months, Mary," her mother told her, as Mary made a great show of stomping her feet on her way out of the room, and the queen pointedly ignored her little tantrum. Her mother's tone of voice was more stern now: "Use the time wisely. The public might be enthusiastic about your first photos with Francis at the ball, but they're still not entirely convinced by the connection between the two of you. You _must_ make more effort when the cameras are on today. And never forget, there's a lot more at stake for Scotland right now than just television ratings..."

Mary simply glared at her mother as she headed for the door, but she couldn't help the familiar prickle of nerves at the mention of Scotland being in trouble.

"Oh, and James?" she heard her mother tell her brother just before she left the room, "Kenna will be arriving for a visit tomorrow."

Standing in the doorway, Mary looked back at her brother.

Now, James was the one who looked nervous and uncomfortable.

* * *

As Mary walked through the hallways that led from the family dining room to the television room, all of her troubled thoughts seemed to take over.

She thought again about her mother's angry words to James last night, and she wondered if her mother had brought forward Kenna's next visit to Scotland as some sort of punishment; a way of reminding James of his duties, and to remind him to behave himself.

Then, not for the first time this morning, she thought about the ball last night, and how Francis hadn't asked her to dance. She thought about how he _had_ danced with Lola, how the two of them had laughed together. _Why does this bother you so much?_ she asked herself, yet again.

She also thought about Bash, and how he'd flirted with her. She remembered how her mother had mentioned this apparent 'flirting' to James, when she'd been shouting at him. _Was_ she attracted to Bash? Did it _really_ look as though something was going on between the two of them?

She thought about how she'd looked out the window earlier in the morning, to see Francis and Bash outside, walking the grounds together, already looking like the best of friends. Would Bash let slip to Francis that he'd smirked and winked at Mary in the village only a day ago? Would he tell him that James had lied and covered up to get Bash a job at the castle, as some twisted favour to Mary? Would Francis even care?

All of this was going on-and Mary's troubled thoughts seemed to be never-ending-and yet there was still a television show to film; there was a matchmaking process in place that had to continue, no matter what.

Desperately, Mary tried to remind herself of how kind Francis had been to her when they'd spoken in the television room just before the ball. He'd promised that he would try to make things easier for her. She remembered how different he'd looked, dressed in his jeans and jumper; she remembered how he'd tried to comfort her when she was upset. She remembered how he'd held her hand when they walked into the ballroom together, preventing her from falling…

Perhaps things really wouldn't be as bad as they seemed.

Scotland was counting on her, and she would have to try her best, if only to distract the country from its other problems for a little while. Francis would help her. She could get through this….

Mary was just walking past the wooden balcony that overlooked the castle's entrance hall, and she was starting to feel slightly better, when she heard Francis's voice:

 _"Send my best wishes to Olivia…"_

With a suspicious frown, Mary crept closer to the balcony and looked over it to see Francis, deep in conversation with his father.

She could only pick up on a few of the words they were saying, but they were enough to provoke the familiar feelings of panic and hopelessness that seemed to wash over her on an almost daily basis…

 _"This is a television show!"_ Francis's father snapped at him. " _France needs the ratings just as much as Scotland does! Play your part!"_

And then, just before Francis's father walked out the door: " _Remember, Francis, duty always comes first."_

Trying to fight off a strange, unexpected feeling of disappointment, Mary moved away from the balcony and headed towards the television room.

"Duty always comes first," she muttered sarcastically to herself as she walked.

For a moment, Mary was certain she heard the sound of mocking laughter from just around the corner, but then she told herself firmly that she was only imagining things.


	7. Chapter 7

The atmosphere in the television room was rather subdued as Mary allowed the hair, makeup and Publicity teams to get her ready for her photoshoot with Francis.

Mary wasn't sure if this was due to the fact that James had decided to join them all in the room this morning, with her older brother looking moodier than ever (Mary suspected that her mother's recent announcement about Kenna's visit had a part to play in James's current sulkiness, and he was probably now prepared to go anywhere to escape the constant reminders of his duties), or if it was due to the fact that Mary was dreading her photoshoot more than ever now, in light of recent events.

In her mind, she kept going over and over the conversation that she had just overheard between Francis and his father. The more she thought about their words, the more uneasy she felt…

Amongst her nagging concern that Francis still seemed to have some sort of relationship with Olivia going on back in France were the mixed feelings of anger and fear that Francis and his family were using Scotland in some way just to benefit their own country.

Then there was Francis's father's reminder to his son that this whole thing was only a television show.

Was this process really just a television appearance to Francis? After all, before the ball last night, he had talked about the two of them helping each other to 'get through' the process, as though it was something that only had to be endured for a little while. Would he leave the moment the television show was over, in a final humiliation to Scotland? And, before that, would the Valois family employ under-handed moves behind the scenes to make fools of the Scottish royal family along the way?

There was also Francis's father's command to Francis to 'do his duty'. How sad it was that Francis only seemed to be here out of some sense of royal obligation! How strange it was that Mary suddenly cared so much! Had this whole thing not just been an obligation to her, too, this time yesterday?

Would Francis really just be playing a part in all of his interactions with her? She remembered what her mother had said at breakfast, about how close Mary and Francis had been as children. If all of that was true, then how had things changed so drastically between them over the years? Was it really just down to the disaster that they had both been a part of? Or was there more to it than that?

More than ever, Mary felt like Francis was keeping secrets from her.

As though the television screen in the room could somehow read her thoughts, a member of Narcisse's team suddenly changed the channel, and Mary noticed that a panel made up of celebrity journalists and political writers was currently debating the ethics of allowing a matchmaking process to be shown on television for public entertainment in the first place.

With a sigh, Mary turned away from the TV screen. There was a part of her that knew that she should be finding the positives in these recent revelations; after all, it would definitely make things easier if the Valois family did the dirty work for her and showed the country just how under-handed they could be, and then proceeded to back out of the matchmaking show before a decision about an engagement had to happen-this was exactly the kind of thing she'd wanted, when she'd first been scheming her way out of this process, before she'd realised _who_ exactly would be involved in the show-but for some reason, she could find no joy in this realisation right now.

She could also find no joy in the fact that she was getting to spend a little time with her older brother at the moment, even though they rarely had this spare time to sit in the television room together anymore. Because right now, James looked so miserable that Mary could not even muster a smile in his presence. He kept staring out the window, looking lost in thought, and he seemed to be pointedly ignoring all the messages that the queen kept sending to his phone.

With all of her suspicions about the Valois family, Mary had a strange feeling that perhaps it wouldn't be such a wise idea to lose her focus just now and allow Narcisse to play too great a role in all the final decisions about today's show, but she really couldn't help herself; she was too distracted by everything else that was going on at the moment-her own inner thoughts in particular.

Vaguely, she was aware of the fact that the stylists had dressed her in a light blue dress today (on Narcisse's advice), which had a few sequins sewn in (apparently, they would reflect the glimmers of sunlight just perfectly when they were outside, or so her chief stylist had told her). They had also found a plain white cardigan for Mary to wear to help keep her warm on a cool Scottish day, and her hair hung loosely over her shoulders. Her matching blue shoes were practical, with only a small heel, so they would not be too painful to walk in out in the grounds, but they were still stylish all the same.

As the hair stylists made their final preparations, and Narcisse instructed her yet again that she was not to say anything today that could potentially make her country look vulnerable, the programme on the television screen changed to footage of an interview that Kenna had recently given to Lord Castleroy on a television show in Edinburgh…

"Now, now, Aloysius," she was telling him in the interview clip as he pressed her for the details of her upcoming wedding to James, and he asked her if they had named a date yet. Kenna grinned playfully as she waggled a finger at him, as charming as ever, even as she skillfully deflected the question. "You know that a princess has to keep _some_ things secret!"

The audience in the television studio laughed along with her, captivated by Kenna and her smiles and her jokes.

 _You are not a princess yet!_ Mary couldn't help thinking angrily to herself as she glared at the television screen. Yet she couldn't help feeling a bit envious of Kenna as she continued to laugh and joke with Lord Castleroy. Mary had a feeling that _she_ would never master Kenna's talent of so easily engaging an audience. She supposed that this was one of the reasons why Kenna had always dreamed of being a princess, while Mary had always dreamed of escaping the restrictions of royal life.

As though only just realising that his future wife was appearing on television, James suddenly turned away from the window and looked up in the direction of the television screen.

With a roll of his eyes, he abruptly got up from his seat and stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

As distracted as she was by the minutes on the clock which were slowly ticking away, Mary still noticed that Narcisse seemed to watch her brother with a very sad expression on his face as he left the room.

"Is something the matter?" Mary couldn't help asking him, her curiosity winning out over the need to get to the photo-shoot on time.

As Narcisse replied, he sounded rather hesitant: "Your brother," he mumbled in a low voice, as though he didn't want anyone else in the room to hear what he was saying, "he reminds me a little of my own son."

"You have a son?" Mary asked him, her eyebrows raised in surprise. Stephane Narcisse seemed far too young to have a son who was old enough to resemble James in any way.

"My ex and I were very young when he was born," he continued to whisper, with a pained expression still written all over his face. "He and I were very close, once, but it has been two years since I last saw him…"

"Did you have some sort of argument with him?" Mary asked Narcisse, intrigued now as to what had happened to separate father and son, although she knew that her mother would tell her to hold her tongue, if she were here. This line of questioning would seem far too impersonal and inappropriate to the queen, especially when it was a member of the royal family who was asking the questions.

"No…nothing like that," said Narcisse, sounding hesitant now. "He was…imprisoned, for a crime he did not commit, and was forced to flee his home country after he was released, for his own safety. I have not seen him since."

"I'm sorry," Mary told him, sincerely. She knew that she was still young and didn't yet fully understand the bond between parent and child, but she couldn't help feeling genuinely sorry for the relationship between father and son that Narcisse had lost, and all for what seemed like an injustice in the law system.

Any further conversation about the matter was cut off when Lola knocked on the door, here to remind everyone in the room that the photographers were waiting, and that the queen was 'concerned' that Mary was going to be late.

Lola's visit seemed to temporarily distract Narcisse from his painful memories, and so Mary left Lola and Narcisse in the room together and headed down to the gardens alone.

* * *

When Mary walked outside into the castle's main gardens, her somber mood did not improve, in spite of today's rare warm weather.

She spotted Francis, standing a few feet away from her on the lawn, surrounded by the photographers who were setting up for the photo-shoot.

Francis had his back to her, and he appeared to be talking to someone on his phone.

As Mary walked closer to him, she could just about hear him say the name 'Olivia' as he held his phone close to his ear.

He was speaking in French, but Mary could still understand a few of the phrases, thanks to the frequent French language lessons taught by the nuns at her former school. Francis was saying something about how the situation 'wasn't ideal', and how he knew 'how difficult this had been' and also something about how things would 'work out for the best, in the end'.

Mary felt a frown creep to her face. She felt the now all-too-familiar flicker of suspicion that Francis and Olivia were still together, and that he was merely going to endure three months of television appearances before he ran back to his real girlfriend in France.

A member of Francis's royal staff seemed to notice Mary's presence, because the woman nodded pointedly at Francis, and he quickly turned around to see for himself that Mary was standing a few feet away from him. He looked slightly sheepish at having been caught talking to Olivia on his phone, which only caused Mary's suspicions to increase.

"I have to go," he told Olivia abruptly, before he hung up his phone.

Then, as though _Mary_ had been the one to make a mistake, he frowned as he took in the outfit she was wearing, with an obvious expression of disapproval on his face, leading Mary to wonder what she had done wrong.

Before anything could be said between the two of them, they were both ushered towards the fountain in the middle of the garden, where the photo-shoot was to begin.

The tension seemed to be thick in the air around them, as neither of them spoke, and Francis looked very unhappy. They often had to be prompted by the team of photographers to stand closer to one another.

As they moved from the fountain to the flowerbeds to the hedges to the garden statues, they had only the flashes of the cameras for company as the photographers fussed around them, trying to capture every photo from a perfect angle.

Mary tried her best to smile and look relaxed for the cameras, but she couldn't help suspecting that the public would not be entirely convinced of her happiness.

For his part, Francis seemed to be making more effort to look cheerful for the cameras (something that Mary supposed he had been taught to do for years), but Mary could still see the troubled look on his face between the flashes of the cameras.

As the sun shone in the sky above them, Mary couldn't help thinking about how the rays of light seemed to reflect perfectly on Francis's golden curls, although she also felt that this was maybe a strange thought to be having, especially about someone who she didn't know very well and who wasn't actually her boyfriend.

She also had the strange, inexplicable sensation that she had thought something like this about Francis's golden curls once before, but she had no idea where _that_ idea had just come from, or if it was even based on any real memory.

After the photo-shoot, the television crew proceeded to set up _their_ cameras so that they could shoot some footage of Mary and Francis walking in the grounds for the next episode of the show.

As the cameras followed them around the gardens, Francis started to make general conversation with Mary, asking her about her family. Mary had a feeling that making small talk was yet another task that Francis was used to carrying out, due to the amount of people he was expected to meet with on a day to day basis, as part of his role as prince.

After a few more minutes of walking, she also got the strange feeling that Francis actually had other, more important things he wanted to say, as he looked very agitated, and he kept frowning, and sometimes he opened his mouth as though to say something but then quickly closed it again-the presence of the cameras seemed to have put him on his guard.

Privately, Mary acknowledged the fact that there definitely _was_ something very unnatural about making polite conversation while a cameraman walked backwards a few feet ahead of them, matching his pace to their steps while he filmed them, and another member of the television crew held a large microphone over their heads so that their conversation would be clear when the footage was broadcast to the Scottish public on television.

There was a very awkward moment when Mary, distracted by the cameraman and the microphone, suddenly tripped over an uneven part of the grass and started to fall before she could do anything to stop herself.

Quickly, as though acting totally on instinct, Francis reached out and grabbed her, preventing her from falling to the ground, before he helped her to get back to her feet.

Out of the corner of her eye, Mary could see the photographers eagerly taking photos in the distance, no doubt trying to capture this moment so they could twist it into some romantic gesture of Francis holding Mary in his arms by the time the picture reached the pages of their magazines.

"I'm sorry," Francis muttered, the moment he let go of Mary. It was as though he had only just realised that he'd reached out for her. For some reason, he looked more awkward than ever, and even a little embarrassed. Mary had never seen him look so at a loss for what to do or say.

"It's fine," Mary responded hurriedly, trying to sound as dignified as possible as she struggled to regain her composure. She wished she hadn't fallen over like an idiot in front of Francis-she was sure that _he_ had never done such a thing before.

The conversation soon turned to Francis's family. Unable to help herself, Mary made a comment about how Francis's father had not looked very well when she saw him this morning, because a part of her really wanted Francis to know that she had overheard his conversation with his father in the entrance hall.

She watched Francis very carefully for his reaction, and sure enough, after a confused-looking frown, a flicker of what looked like real apprehension crossed his face, before he went completely silent for a few long moments.

During a brief break in filming, Mary and Francis stopped walking, and Mary noticed that Francis's gaze was immediately drawn to the upper floors of the castle.

Mary followed his gaze, and she suddenly noticed that Narcisse was fully visible in one of the large glass windows that overlooked the gardens.

He was standing looking down on the events unfolding in the grounds, with his arms folded and a hint of a smirk on his face. He nodded politely at Mary when he noticed her looking up at him, but then he returned to staring at Francis, with his smirk seeming to quickly turn into a sneer.

To the casual observer, it could look as though he was merely overseeing today's filming through the professional eyes of a Publicist, but Mary could tell by the look on his face that there was more to it than that.

Whatever he was doing, it seemed as though his main aim was to taunt Francis somehow, or to make him angry, and he was succeeding.

After a few minutes of careful thought, Mary looked down at the clothes she was wearing today, only now properly taking them in.

She realised now the reason why Narcisse had commanded the stylists to dress her in blue and white-he had dressed her in the colours of the Scottish flag. Perhaps this was not simply a casual outfit, designed purely for comfort while she walked around the grounds. Had this been intentional? A subtle move to show Francis yet again which country was going to be in charge of these proceedings? The look on Narcisse's face as he continued to look down on Francis definitely seemed to suggest it.

Perhaps that was the reason why Francis had given her such a cold look when she'd first walked up to him at the start of the photo-shoot.

The more rational part of Mary's mind reminded her yet again that she would have to be careful with Narcisse.

Narcisse's presence seemed to unnerve Francis completely, even after he'd walked away from the window, as he seemed to lose the ability to even make small talk with Mary. They walked on in silence for a few more minutes.

The awkward silence was only broken by the sound of a call coming through to his phone.

Francis muttered his apologies and headed to a more private part of the garden to take the call.

With a sigh, Mary imagined that it was Olivia, calling him again.

While she waited for Francis to return, a few journalists who were also present for today's filming swooped in to ask Mary a few questions so they could use her answers in their articles.

As Mary answered all of their typical questions almost automatically, switching to autopilot as she recited answers that she had already rehearsed with Narcisse, and meanwhile remaining lost in her own personal thoughts, a horrible idea suddenly occurred to her…

Was _Francis's_ family responsible in some way for Narcisse's son's imprisonment and subsequent fleeing of his home country?

A part of her wanted to dismiss this idea as completely ridiculous, but she knew she couldn't do that-the Valois were not known for being particularly kind or merciful. She would not put it past them to have a young person wrongly arrested to achieve their own selfish aims.

Besides, Narcisse and Francis really did seem to hate each other. There had to be a reason for that, and what better reason than an injustice that had been carried out on Narcisse's family by the French royal family?

Was Narcisse going to try to get revenge on him? Is that why he was here?

How awful it would be, Mary thought, if all of this turned out to be true…

Mary was only pulled out of these dark thoughts when a journalist suddenly asked her if she planning a visit to France with Francis anytime soon, as the general public apparently thought that this would be a good idea, as it would help her to get to know Francis better.

Mary was tempted to roll her eyes at the idea of the general public seeming to think that they knew what was best for her, but she caught herself at the last moment. Instead, she plastered a fake smile on her face as she responded, "We'll see."

She thought it was probably better to keep her answer vague like that for now, as she wasn't sure that spending time with the French royal family would provide the answers to any of her current problems.

Before the journalists could get anymore answers out of her, Francis returned. If anything, he looked even more annoyed than he had looked a few minutes ago.

As several members of the television crew insisted that Francis and Mary needed to strike up another conversation, so that they could have _some_ decent dialogue for their last few minutes of filming, Mary and Francis resorted to making small talk about the weather, of all things, and Mary found her patience was starting to wear thin.

Finally, the cameras stopped rolling. While the crew packed up their things, Mary and Francis stood around awkwardly, as though neither of them really knew what to do.

Mary already knew that Francis would have to leave the gardens to attend a meeting soon, as she'd heard that he had a video conference scheduled with several French politicians, but it seemed he had some free time before then.

With little time left before the meeting, Mary couldn't resist mentioning Francis's latest phone call: "How is Olivia?" she asked him with a raised eyebrow.

She noticed that Francis's whole body seemed to tense at her question, and he took his time in answering her.

"Olivia is fine," he finally responded, sounding very hesitant. "She is as well as can be expected, anyway, given the circumstances..."

Mary felt a rush of something that felt a little like envy for a moment, but then she told herself that what she was feeling was simply anger.

"Why are you here?" she couldn't help asking Francis, unable to keep the irritation out of her voice as she narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously. Already, she was sick of playing games. Between him and Narcisse, it felt as though the game-playing tactics were never-ending. "Are you just seeking publicity for France through this television show?"

Francis frowned. "It is not that simple, Mary," he told her, sounding almost as irritated as she felt. "And you know that."

"Francis, you are deliberately over-complicating things!" Mary snapped at him.

And then they were bickering. They stood facing one another as Mary angrily accused Francis of keeping secrets from her, and also of lying to her, although she wasn't sure exactly what he was supposed to have lied about, while Francis went on about royal duty, and how he was always expected to put his country first, as though Mary didn't know all of this already. She'd seen for herself that this was always the way it had to be, with a king. James had proved this point to her, over and over. This was why she had always insisted that she didn't want to marry into royalty.

"You don't want to marry me," Mary finally stated, after they'd finished bickering.

"Not like this!" Francis replied, a tone of desperation, or maybe it was just exasperation, in his voice.

Mary had had enough. With a loud sigh, she threw her hands up in the air, turned on her heel, and stormed off, trying to put as much distance as possible between herself and Francis and the cameras.

She was sure she heard Francis calling out her name, but she ignored him and kept walking.

Vaguely, she couldn't help thinking about how their first official day of filming couldn't _possibly_ have gone any worse, and also that she was probably at least _partially_ responsible for her interaction with Francis today unravelling into an argument; but then she broke out into a run, and Mary tried not to think about anything, at least while she was running away.

* * *

Mary ran through the castle grounds as fast as her blue shoes could carry her, abandoning all the carved-out paths to run on the muddy grass.

She only slowed down when she was as far from the castle as she could get before she started to run out of breath.

There was about half a mile of woodland towards the end of the royal gardens, and Mary leaned against the nearest tree, trying to catch her breath.

Then, in another rush of anger, she picked up a large stone from the floor and threw it into a large puddle that must have formed during last night's downpour of rain.

Suddenly, she heard the sound of laughter coming from a few feet away.

Although the laughter sounded friendly, and nothing like the mocking laughter she'd imagined she'd heard earlier, Mary still jumped in shock at the realisation that somebody was watching her.

She turned around slowly to see Sebastian, leaning casually against a tree a few feet away from her. He seemed to have been just about to leave the grounds for the day, but apparently Mary's outburst of anger had stopped him in his tracks. As he smirked at her, there was an expression of amusement written all over his face.

"Is everything all right?" he asked her with a grin, looking like he was struggling to hold back even more laughter.

Mary had just opened her mouth to tell him curtly that everything was fine, the way her mother would have expected her to do in the presence of a stranger, so as not to give too much away, but Mary stopped herself at the last moment.

She wasn't sure what made her do it-perhaps it was the fact that she'd already had a stressful day, or the realisation that Francis hadn't actually denied her allegation that he didn't want to marry her, but one moment, she was about to deflect Bash's question, and the next, she'd launched into a rant about Olivia, and how Francis had asked his father to send his 'best wishes' to her earlier, and how Francis had interrupted filming today to talk to her on the phone.

"Am I being ridiculous?" Mary eventually asked Bash after she'd paused to take a breath, feeling a bit silly for her outburst now that she was starting to calm down a little.

"No," Bash replied with a seemingly casual shrug, although there was a definite sympathetic tone to his voice, or maybe even something more-something deeper. "Anyway," Bash continued, "Francis has you. Why would he ever look elsewhere?"

Mary stared at him for a few long moments after he finished speaking, trying to work him out; trying to find the meaning in his words; trying to decide if she could trust him.

In the end, she decided to take a risk. _It's not like you have much to lose, anyway,_ she reminded herself with a sad sigh.

"Do you want to sneak out of the castle with me?" she finally asked him, feeling almost nervous as she asked the question, in case he said no. She wasn't sure if she could take another rejection today.

Luckily, a smirk crept to Bash's face as soon as she asked him the question, along with a very calculating look in his eyes, and Mary guessed that Bash was definitely the 'sneaking out' type.

* * *

It turned out that Mary was correct in her estimation of Sebastian. Although he had only worked at the castle for one day, he already seemed adept at hiding away and escaping the notice of the castle's guards.

While Mary hid away in the stables and waited for him, Bash crept to one of the castle's supply rooms and stole long, dark coats for the two of them to wear, so that they would be better disguised, along with a hat for Mary to tuck her hair up into.

After the two of them had put on the long coats from the supply room, they waited for the time to come when there would be a routine 'changing of the guard'-as Bash suggested that it would be easiest to escape the guards' notice at this time-and then they managed to sneak out of the stables and headed towards the woodland at the edge of the royal grounds.

Avoiding all the well-guarded gates situated around the gardens which marked the typical entrances and exits to the grounds, Mary and Bash crept through the trees towards the high wall that officially marked the boundaries of the royal gardens, with Bash looking over his shoulder just as much as Mary did on the way, to check that nobody was following them.

Mary had a strange feeling that Bash had done things like this before.

Finally, they reached the stone wall at the end of the gardens, and Bash managed to climb it easily, with Mary only struggling a little in her high-heeled shoes. Thankfully, Bash reached down to help her, and then they were over the wall and jumping down onto the muddy ground below, before they ran through yet more woodland on the way to the village.

As she ran, Mary suddenly worried, for the first time ever, that if she and Bash could so easily get _out_ of the castle, then perhaps it would be rather easy for others to get _in_ …She wondered if she should perhaps raise this concern with her mother soon, when the two of them could manage to have a conversation without arguing.

Shaking off that not-so-pleasant thought for the moment, and deciding that perhaps she was just being paranoid, Mary continued to follow Bash, feeling her usual rush of exhilaration at being out of the castle; at having the illusion of freedom. This time, it felt especially good to be here with someone who actually _wanted_ to be with her; someone who enjoyed sneaking out of the castle just as much as she did; someone who wouldn't lecture her on how she shouldn't be doing this.

Mary knew her mother would probably be furious, when she found out what Mary had done, but right now, she didn't care. She just needed to escape reality for a little while.

They ended up taking a long walk on the outskirts of the village, strolling down country lanes and over hills and along the banks of the river, with the two of them pointing out all the places they'd already visited in this particular part of the country along the way.

For a little while, they shared a few laughs and jokes about life in the castle, but to Mary's surprise, their topic of their conversation soon turned to Francis, and she felt strangely compelled to tell Bash almost everything about her recent interactions with him, and how he often seemed to be very cold and distant with her.

"He seems to tense up whenever I stand close to him," she complained, "and he barely seems able to talk to me sometimes. Why is that?" she couldn't help asking Bash, wondering if it might make things clearer, if she had a male perspective on the matter.

"He has feelings for you," Bash told her in response, like this was the most obvious fact in the world.

"No, he doesn't!" Mary protested as she fought off a blush, feeling like Bash had completely missed the point. "His expression is always so…distracted whenever I'm around, and he wouldn't even ask me to dance at the ball! Oh, and he only ever seems to look at me when he's standing at a distance. And, he seems to be able to make conversation with every other woman in the castle, except me."

"Because he has feelings for you," Bash repeated. This time, Mary picked up on a hint of sadness in his voice, although she wasn't sure what Bash was so sad about.

Deciding that Bash _had_ to be wrong about this, and therefore realising that it probably wouldn't be very productive to discuss this matter any further, Mary went back to staring at the river, with Bash walking in silence next to her. At the very least, this silence with Bash didn't feel like an uncomfortable one.

As the late afternoon turned into evening, Mary reluctantly started making plans to head back to the castle, but when Bash mentioned something about heading to the local village pub, _The Lion and the Unicorn_ , this evening, Mary felt intrigued all over again.

"Do you want to go to a party?" Bash asked her with a knowing grin.

Mary nodded, a smirk creeping slowly to her face as all plans to return home were temporarily forgotten.

* * *

The two of them kept their heads down as they walked into the pub, trying to be discreet, just in case anybody was watching. It seemed though that they were being overly paranoid-the customers barely even noticed their arrival.

The inside of the pub looked almost like a room from the past-there were wooden tables and chairs placed unevenly about the room, there was a dusty-looking wooden floor, and the room was rather dark and dingy.

A large Scottish flag hung on the wall, and it was surrounded by old paintings.

There was a small bar to the left of the room where a few men were ordering drinks, and there was a fireplace on the other side, where a few real flames flickered in the fire.

Above the fire, a mantelpiece displayed several old-fashioned looking ornaments, most of which seemed to be in the shapes of lions and unicorns. Although Mary _did_ notice that there was also a model of what appeared to be a bird raising its wings, which was displayed right in the centre of the mantelpiece, and she felt her usual prickle of curiosity. She wondered why she seemed to be seeing this bird-in-flight symbol everywhere, and what it could possibly mean.

The only hint of the modern world appeared in the form of a couple of widescreen televisions that were displayed on the walls. On the screen, Mary was a bit shocked to see her own face. It seemed she was the subject of yet another discussion by a panel of entertainment 'experts'.

The topic of the discussion was displayed on the top of the screen: _Who is Mary Stuart?_

Apparently, the panelists were trying to work out her character, including her hobbies and her personality traits, in order to better understand how the matchmaking show would play out, and whether she and Francis would turn out to be compatible.

Mary shrugged to herself as she pulled her hat down even further to cover her face. She felt like even _she_ wouldn't be able to provide them with all the answers right now.

With a knowing smirk at the television screens, Bash led her towards the back of the room, where it seemed that they would have a little more privacy.

As she passed several of the tables, Mary suddenly noticed that Narcisse was sitting at one of them, playing a game of poker with a group of men, apparently having finished work at the castle for the day. She couldn't help shaking her head and rolling her eyes as she stared at the cards in his hands. _Of course_ Narcisse would enjoy playing poker, she thought.

Narcisse looked up from his cards, and their eyes met. For a second, there was a flicker of uncertainty on his face, but then he simply nodded at her before he focused on the game again.

Discreetly, Mary nodded back at him. She understood what was going on-for whatever reason, neither of them was supposed to be here, and they were both making a silent agreement not to acknowledge the other's presence; an agreement to keep the other's secret.

She couldn't help wondering how Francis would feel about that, but then she shrugged this thought off, as it made her feel too uneasy.

She carried on following Bash towards the back of the room, where the pub seemed to be even darker and quieter.

In this part of the pub, the people sitting huddled around the circular tables seemed to have more pressing matters to deal with than ordering drinks and playing poker. Most of them had very grave expressions on their faces, and they were taking it in turns to speak, while the others listened attentively.

A woman with dark brown hair and hazel eyes walked among them. The way she was carrying herself and the authoritative tone to her voice suggested to Mary that she was some sort of leader of this bizarre little gathering.

Mary felt a strange flicker of recognition-she was certain that she knew this woman from somewhere, but with everything else that had happened over the past twenty-four hours, her memory was letting her down again.

"What is going on?" Mary asked Bash in a whisper.

For his part, Bash looked slightly uncomfortable, especially when the dark-haired woman walking around the room caught his eye and seemed almost to glare at him, as though he had done something wrong.

Mary noticed that Bash looked very similar to this woman, and she wondered if she was his mother.

"There are always meetings like this one taking place here," Bash shrugged. "They should be finished soon. There's a band due to play here later, if you'd like to wait?"

Mary shrugged, deciding that she would wait to see what happened. A part of her was curious to hear what these people were talking about.

Apparently unaffected by Mary and Bash's presence, the people continued with their meeting...

"My family is in serious debt!" one man declared in a thick Scottish accent as he got to his feet to general nods and murmurs. "There are debt collectors at our home every day, demanding payment. I'm not sure we'll ever be able to pay it off!"

"I can't afford even basic medical treatment for _my_ family!" another women called out the moment the first man had sat back down. "The medical reforms in this country have done _nothing_ to help us!"

"My elderly father was taken in for questioning after the latest riots!" a middle-aged man complained after a few people had nodded in agreement with the woman who had spoken before him. "He can barely even walk, and he was forced to spend the night in a cell!"

A few people in the room exclaimed their horror, before an elderly woman got up to speak. "My grandchildren were beaten by the police during those riots," she told the room. "Simply for being in the wrong place at the wrong time."

Hidden away in the corner of the room, Mary listened to what these people were saying in horror. How had all of this happened? Scotland had introduced a system of rule by both the Scottish Parliament and the royal family in the hopes of avoiding serious problems like these. Hadn't they?

The royals were not supposed to be there to simply wear pretty clothes and smile at the cameras; everything was supposed to have improved-there was a more democratic system in place; the country's debt was supposed to be steadily decreasing. And yet, it seemed as though things were only getting worse.

"They are not happy, Mary," Bash suddenly whispered to her, as though he could read the look of anguish on her face. "This is the day-to-day reality for a lot of people in Scotland."

Mary couldn't help feeling ashamed of the fact that the royals were apparently ignorant of the depth of the suffering going on outside the castle walls.

"My two eldest children were arrested, after that protest in Edinburgh last year got out of hand." Another man jumped into the discussion. "Arrested! And without any evidence!"

Again, Mary remembered what Narcisse had told her earlier, about his son.

As people continued to air their grievances, Mary felt more fearful than ever for her country. Something would have to be done about all this, or there would be even more riots and protests, and then her parents would be in very serious trouble. She just wasn't sure exactly _what_ she could do to make things better.

"Your parents will be hoping that Francis's family will help with all this," Sebastian whispered to her, apparently reading the expression on her face again.

Mary stared back at him, trying to read between the lines as she picked up on a hint of bitterness in his words.

To Mary, it seemed that Bash's thoughts about the matchmaking process offered yet more proof that her parents were treating her as another bargaining chip for the country, rather than actually caring about her wish to marry for love.

 _You don't have to play their game, though,_ she silently reminded herself. _You can play it your way._

* * *

At last, the 'meeting' in the pub came to an end. Most of the people at the tables departed, making way for more customers as a band arrived and started setting up their equipment.

Mary wasn't really in the mood for music and dancing anymore, after everything she'd just heard, but Bash looked so happy to be there, that she agreed to stay with him for a little while longer before heading back to the castle to face an angry lecture from her mother.

In the end, she was glad she had decided to stay, as the band was especially good-they used traditional instruments to play a mixture of traditional Scottish and Celtic songs, with an audience made up of the young and the old who laughed and sang along, many of them even climbing up onto tables and chairs to dance. To Mary, they all looked so uninhibited; so free.

Now feeling slightly more relaxed as she realised that everybody was too busy drinking and dancing to pay much attention to her, she removed her coat and hat and watched the band with a smile on her face as the music picked up its pace.

"Would you like to dance?" Bash asked Mary with a smirk and a mocking bow as he held out a hand to her.

Mary rolled her eyes at him, but then she grinned and nodded and took his hand. She was at a _real_ party tonight, and she was determined to enjoy it.

Bash ended up helping her up onto one of the tables, and the two of them danced on its surface, laughing the whole time, while Mary thought about how wonderful it was to be out at night at this forbidden place with a handsome young man; to just dance and laugh and let go for what felt like the first time in a long time.

As Bash started to spin her around in time to the music, Mary imagined that she was just an ordinary girl, without any responsibilities, without all of her baggage from the past couple of years; she was just an ordinary girl who had met this ordinary boy in the village, and now they were at a party together, with nobody watching them, waiting for them to make a mistake.

But then, she started to spin even faster, and suddenly, she was sixteen years old again, spinning around in the French castle; she was running towards the prince with blond, wavy hair. _"Francis!"_ she was calling out to him in her thoughts, trying to get to him before it was too late…

Mary must have stumbled, because she found herself in Bash's arms, with him holding her tight, as though he had just caught her before she fell. She couldn't help thinking about the photo-shoot earlier, when Francis had reached out for her as she tripped over. And then she felt almost guilty, for thinking so much about Francis when she was here with Bash.

"Mary, are you all right?" Sebastian whispered to her as he continued to hold her up. There was a look of genuine concern on his face.

"I'm fine," Mary quickly reassured him as he asked her again if she was okay. Desperately, she tried to place the invisible mask back on her face. She felt so embarrassed for allowing her thoughts of the past to take over again. "Perhaps I just need to rest for a minute."

Leaving Bash to dance, and promising him yet again that she was fine, Mary walked away and went to lean against the bar for a little while, appreciating the music from a distance.

After only a couple of songs, Mary noticed that a crowd of girls had taken her place around Bash, and he seemed to be flirting with all of them, apparently glad of the attention.

Mary felt a slight flicker of jealousy, but then, to her surprise, she realised that this jealousy was nowhere near as strong as the strange emotion she'd felt when she'd caught Francis talking to Olivia earlier.

 _Interesting…_ a knowing voice in her head that sounded a bit like her mother seemed to be telling her.

 _But, you don't even like Francis…_ another voice cut in-this one was the voice of the teenage girl who wanted to run away and be a rebel, and who seemed to think that Sebastian was very attractive.

Do _you like him?_ the other, more logical voice asked her, not wanting to go down without a fight.

 _But Francis hates you..._ The teenage rebel was back in her thoughts, mocking her. _He doesn't want to marry you. He likes Olivia better. And Lola too, perhaps…_

Mary shook her head, trying to clear it of those very uncomfortable thoughts.

 _Francis, will you marry me?_

Suddenly, another voice was in her head, although this voice sounded much more like Mary as a child. As she blinked in surprise, Mary was certain that she had just stumbled upon some remnant of a memory that she'd kept locked away for a long time-something about this line just seemed so familiar, but she couldn't find the other pieces in her mind to put this whole memory together.

"Must have a girl in every town, that one!"

Mary's thoughts were abruptly interrupted by a voice coming from behind her. Startled, she turned around to see the barman, leaning against the bar as he nodded knowingly in Bash's direction.

"Ay, I know the type!" he continued the moment he had Mary's full attention. He pointed right at Bash, who was still distracted by the pretty girls around him. With another chuckle, the barman smiled at her before he started to clean a few empty glasses.

Mary did her best to smile back at him, but she didn't really find what he had said about Bash very funny. Mainly because she suspected it was true. He had told her so himself, last night at the ball, in not so many words. Still, something about Bash fascinated her; she still looked at him as he continued to charm all the girls in the room.

* * *

Eventually, Mary decided to step out of the room for a few moments, to collect her thoughts.

She went out a side door that led to a narrow hallway. There was a flight of stairs in the hallway that Mary supposed led to more function rooms upstairs.

She had just sat down on the stairs when the door was flung open. The woman with dark hair stormed out into the hallway, with Bash not far behind her.

Hurriedly, Mary ran to the top of the stairs, hiding herself from view. When she was certain that they couldn't see her, she leaned against the banister, trying to overhear what the two of them were saying...

"You made a mistake bringing her here!" the woman was shouting at Bash, the anger and disappointment in her tone of voice almost reminding Mary of her mother's heated discussion with James last night. "You could have put us all in terrible danger!"

Mary frowned in confusion, wondering why her presence at this local pub had risked putting _anyone_ in danger of anything.

She missed the next part of the discussion, as the music coming from the other room was still rather loud, but then, during a brief pause in the playing of musical instruments, she could pick up on a few words again:

"The _last_ thing we need is for the Valois to get involved in our plans…trust me, I'm telling you this from experience," the woman told Bash. "You are well aware of what happens to those who cross them."

Bash muttered something in response, but Mary couldn't make out what he had said.

"She is going to marry the future king of France!" the woman continued to shout. "You must keep her at a distance, Sebastian!"

"Nothing is set in stone," Bash replied, his tone of voice more defiant than Mary had heard before. "She has other options."

The woman made a noise that was somewhere between amusement and derision, as though the idea of Mary having 'other options' was ludicrous to her.

It suddenly occurred to Mary that the timing of their arrival at the pub this evening had been no accident-for whatever reason, Bash had wanted her to hear the grievances of the Scottish public; he had wanted their words to have an effect on her.

Annoyingly, Mary missed even more of what was being said downstairs, until the noise coming from the main room died down again.

"Take care, my boy," Mary could now hear the woman telling Bash, her tone of voice sounding softer, more sympathetic now that she had calmed down. "Or you will risk losing _everything_ we have worked for, and all for a girl who will _never_ be yours."


	8. Chapter 8

The next morning, Mary stood outside the castle, on the old stone steps that led to the main front doors, surrounded by family members and several teams of royal staff as they waited for Kenna's arrival.

Various photographers lined the long driveway leading up to the castle's entrance, ready to take pictures of Kenna's 'happy reunion' with James after a few weeks spent apart, along with members of the camera crew from the television show, who also lingered around the driveway and the front doors, ready to capture any footage that they could use for the next episode of the show.

Mary kept her eyes fixed on the floor, not feeling ready to face the world or the cameras today. She remained lost in her thoughts, thinking over and over about the conversation she had overheard at the pub yesterday evening, along with all of the grievances of the people who had been there for the meeting in the back of the room. Again, she couldn't help thinking that there were even more secrets being kept from her, or worse, that there were things going on that she didn't yet understand.

Mary knew she probably looked a mess, as she'd only thrown on a pair of dark jeans and an old black jumper when she'd been getting dressed about an hour ago. She wasn't even sure that the designer, high-heeled boots she'd also put on compensated for the general lack of care when it came to the rest of her outfit, or the dark circles under her eyes, or her frequent yawns.

Her mother's reproachful glare seemed to confirm this.

Her mother also glared over at Narcisse, who was standing at the back of the crowd, just out of sight of the camera lens. It was as though her mother thought that Mary's current disheveled appearance was somehow his fault.

Narcisse simply shrugged back at the queen, as though silently trying to tell her he could only do so much when it came to making Mary look presentable.

Her mother then waved back over in Mary's direction, as though trying to get her attention.

Turning away from them both, Mary sighed to herself. She wasn't even sure what was wrong, exactly-she'd thought that spending an evening at a party with Bash would have cheered her up a little, but she couldn't help feeling even more miserable than she had felt yesterday morning, if that was even possible.

To her own surprise, spending some time with Bash had done nothing to ease her fears over filming the television show with Francis. In fact, now she felt like she had been left with even more unanswered questions.

Not far from Mary, Francis also stood on the stairs, with his team of French staff gathered around him. He looked just as exhausted as Mary felt, and she wondered what had been keeping _him_ up all night.

Mary had been trying to ignore her mother's silent instructions for as long as possible, but in the end, she was forced to look back at her, just in time to see her mother making some sort of over-the-top hand gesture that seemed to be indicating that Mary should be standing a little closer to Francis.

With a sigh and a roll of her eyes, Mary looked at Francis with an apologetic expression on her face, trying to ask him without words whether it would be okay to do as her mother asked.

Francis simply nodded, before he took a few steps closer to her.

Noticing that his expression was a lot less guarded than it was yesterday, Mary discreetly whispered, "Are you angry?", just loud enough for him to hear the question.

"No," Francis responded, his tone of voice soft, gentle now. He even managed a sort-of smile.

Mary nodded, relieved that at the very least, he was not holding a grudge after yesterday's argument. As a result, she felt some of the tension easing between them-for now, anyway.

Suddenly, the sight of an expensive black car pulling into the main gates announced Kenna's arrival. An excited chatter seemed to spread among the crowd, especially among the photographers.

As soon as the car came to a halt, the driver got out to open the door for Kenna.

Kenna emerged gracefully from the car with a smile already on her face, not at all phased by all the cameras. Mary noticed that she was wearing a long, light pink dress, along with sparkling silver jewels in her hair and around her wrists and her neck, and the jewels seemed to glimmer in the sunlight. It was the kind of extravagant outfit that Mary would never have felt comfortable wearing.

Kenna smiled and waved at all of the photographers, taking all of the attention in her stride. In fact, Mary could tell that she was enjoying it. She span around several times so that the press could get a photo of her designer dress from every possible angle, along with all her expensive jewels as they caught the light of the camera flashes.

"Kenna!" Mary could hear several photographers call out enthusiastically to her, all of them trying to get the best shot. "Kenna, over here!"

Mary might as well have been invisible. Every single journalist and photographer was entirely focused on Kenna, who smiled and pouted for them all while she skillfully answered their questions, saying just enough, but not giving too much away as they all hung on to her every word.

 _Well,_ Mary thought to herself, unable to keep the bitterness out of her thoughts, _what is a second-born princess to a future queen, after all?_

Mary remembered a school visit to Buckingham Palace in London three or four years ago, when Kenna had happened to be there too, on a visit with her own school. She remembered how Kenna had stood outside the palace gates, posing for photographs with her classmates and bragging to them all about how _she_ would marry a prince or a king one day, and live in a palace of her own.

At the time, Mary and Greer had found her predictions hilarious. They had discreetly smirked at each other and rolled their eyes as they stood at a distance from Kenna and the rest of the students from her school, amused at how unlikely Kenna's ambitions were.

Now, Mary had a feeling that on Kenna and James's wedding day, Kenna would be the one laughing at them.

"James!" Kenna suddenly called out, snapping Mary out of her memory, and Mary looked behind her, just in time to see her older brother run down the steps and towards the path where Kenna was standing.

"Kenna!" James called out to her in reply as he got closer. To everyone listening, he must have sounded like a young lover who had been pining for his absent love for weeks on end, and now he was overjoyed that they were finally reunited.

Kenna was smiling back at him, playing along just as well in front of the cameras. "James!" she called out to him for the second time, her voice apparently full of emotion as she held out her arms to him.

When James got close to her, he picked her up and span her around, and then, when James had put her back down, he dipped her, so low that Kenna's long, light brown hair skimmed the ground, and then he kissed her on the lips while all of the photographers eagerly took photos, trying to capture this 'perfect' moment, no doubt so that it could be displayed on websites and on the front pages of newspapers and magazines.

Out of the corner of her eye, Mary noticed that Franics's eyes had widened the moment James span Kenna around, and then he seemed to jump a little when James and Kenna kissed, as though he was a bit shocked, or overwhelmed, by the over-the-top display of affection.

"They rehearse it in advance," Mary explained to him in a whisper, taking pity on Francis as she nodded her head at a still-kissing James and Kenna; "they rehearse all of it repeatedly."

Francis looked kind of relieved at her words, and for a few seconds, he and Mary shared a look of what was almost amusement at James and Kenna's antics.

Mary couldn't help feeling relieved that Francis probably wouldn't expect _her_ to take part in any of these public displays of affection in front of the cameras.

The shared moment of amusement was interrupted however, when Kenna started walking up the stone steps towards them, with James trailing behind her.

"Oh, it's you," said Kenna, the moment she caught sight of Mary. She looked less than enthusiastic to see her.

"Nice to see you, too, Kenna," Mary replied with a curt nod of her head, trying to keep the biting sarcasm out of her voice.

Kenna looked like she had a few sarcastic comments ready to say in reply, but she was cut off by Francis, who moved a little closer to introduce himself to her.

Mary noticed that the press seemed to be focused on the four of them at the moment, and she imagined that the pictures of James and Kenna talking to Mary and Francis would be rather lucrative-to the public, it would seem like a shot of two future kings and two future queens standing together.

For his part, Francis was very polite, and he smiled at Kenna as he shook her hand, ignoring the cameras.

Kenna seemed to find _him_ a lot more interesting than she found Mary. "How are you finding cold, rainy Scotland?" she asked Francis with a smirk.

This time, Mary shared a look of exasperation with James. She was sure her brother would agree with her that the weather in England, where Kenna's family was from, was not much better.

"It's not so bad," Francis responded cryptically to Kenna's question, a polite smile still on his face.

"It must be rather strange for a future king like you," Kenna pressed on, in the bossy voice she always liked to use, "to be taking part in a television show, and dating a girl who is not even the heir to _her_ country's throne-"

"Kenna!" said Mary in an angry whisper, but Kenna ignored her.

"It's no great sacrifice," Francis responded with a shrug, still as cryptic as ever.

"Mary must really be worth it," Kenna went on, as tactless as she always was as she paid no attention to Mary's warning glare.

"She is," Francis replied.

Before Kenna could say anything else, a member of Francis's Publicity Team ushered him away to take a phone call from a member of the Italian royal family.

"Mary, he is in love with you," Kenna suddenly declared, the moment Francis walked away.

"Kenna!" Mary snapped at her, feeling her cheeks colouring at such a bold statement.

 _How could you_ possibly _know that after one minute of interaction?!_ Mary really wanted to demand of her, but before she could get over her shock or collect her thoughts and put them into words, Kenna turned away and headed towards the castle doors, leaving Mary to stand at the top of the steps, almost in a daze as she puzzled over the responses that Francis had just given to Kenna's questions, as well as the bizarre conclusion that Kenna had drawn from the conversation.

* * *

Eventually, Mary had to make a move, as people were jostling to get past her on their way back into the castle, and Kenna and James were already making their way through the main doors that led back inside to the entrance hall.

Mary lagged a few steps behind James and Kenna. The moment they were safely back inside and out of sight of the photographers, Mary noticed that the two of them gave each other a high-five, as though congratulating each other on a job well done outside.

"Hello, Kenna," James told her, as though this was their first real greeting to one another, unlike their public display of affection outside.

"Hello to you, too, James," Kenna replied, her smile slightly more sincere now.

In spite of the friendly words exchanged between them, Mary couldn't help but shudder. Kenna and James had agreed to an arranged marriage that would help to strengthen an alliance between Scotland and England, and Mary had suspected for a long time that there were no real romantic feelings between the two of them. They shared a friendship, at best, but still, it wasn't always easy to watch them as they manipulated the media with their 'young lovers' act.

Mary dreaded the very thought of her own life ending up this way; she couldn't imagine being married to somebody who she was not in love with; she couldn't imagine always having to perform for the cameras the way that Kenna did.

Trying to distract herself, Mary glanced around the entrance hall. She spotted Lola and Narcisse, apparently hiding away in a corner as they conversed in low voices. It seemed that they weren't in the mood for socialising with everyone this morning, and instead preferred each other's company.

Trying not to think too much just yet about what Narcisse had told her yesterday about his son, Mary looked back at Kenna, who also seemed to be looking all around the entrance hall, as though taking it all in. She looked from the floor to the ceiling, glancing at all of the portraits of royal ancestors along the way as she smiled and let out a happy-sounding sigh.

Mary could easily guess what she was thinking-that some day soon, all of this would be hers.

Mary couldn't help feeling the all-too-familiar twist of resentment. When that day came, she knew that she would no longer be as welcome at the castle; she knew that all the major decisions focusing on the day-to-day life of the royals would eventually fall into Kenna's hands. James was so laid-back, and he would hardly put up a fight to all of Kenna's demands.

Unable to look at that ambitious glint in Kenna's eyes anymore, Mary turned away from her, just in time to see Bash, who happened to be walking through the entrance hall at that very moment.

Mary felt slightly awkward as she recalled how she'd fallen into his arms when they were dancing last night, probably looking like an idiot the whole time; how she had lost herself again in her memories of the past, in spite of the happy atmosphere at the pub; and also how that woman had told Bash he shouldn't have even brought Mary to the pub in the first place, as though they were both hiding something.

She really hoped that Bash wouldn't mention any of that, especially now that a large crowd had gathered in the entrance hall due to Kenna's arrival.

Apparently though, Bash knew how to be discreet when it was necessary. He nodded politely at Mary as he crossed the entrance hall and moved closer to her.

"Princess," he greeted her with a quick bow the moment he was within earshot. Right now, he sounded like a staff member who was simply being polite to the daughter of his employer.

Mary was about to say hello, or make small-talk about the weather, or maybe ask him how work had been so far for him today, when she heard the sound of someone approaching. She glanced over her shoulder in time to see Kenna walking over to her. She looked like she had been sent over to fetch Mary for something, probably on the current queen's behalf.

"Mary, your mother wants you to-" she started to say in a bored tone of voice, but then she paused midsentence, apparently distracted by something. "Oh, hello," she said suddenly, looking right at Bash as a smile crept to her face. This smile looked a lot more genuine than before.

"Hello," Bash responded, and Mary noticed that a smile crept to his face, too, as he looked at Kenna. It was not his usual confident, flirtatious smile that Mary had grown used to over the past couple of days, either. Instead, his smile was softer, almost shy.

"I'm Kenna," Kenna told Bash as she held out her hand for him to shake. Mary noted that she hadn't even made a point of introducing herself as 'Lady Kenna'.

"I'm Sebastian," said Bash in response, keeping hold of Kenna's hand for a few seconds longer than what would probably be considered socially acceptable.

"That ring you're wearing, it's very beautiful," Kenna continued, as she nodded at the ring on Bash's finger, looking genuinely intrigued by it.

Mary frowned in confusion. Normally, Kenna was only ever interested in the most expensive and the most exquisite of jewels, or even those rare jewels belonging to the royal family which were priceless. Mary was sure that the plain ring meant something to _Bash_ , but she wasn't sure why _Kenna_ was suddenly so fascinated by it.

"Thank you," said Bash as he smiled at Kenna. He spoke to her like she was shy and nervous; as though he needed to stay calm and speak softly to her to help her feel at ease. And yet Mary had never seen Kenna act shy or nervous. Ever. "It was a gift from my mother, she bought it from the village here."

Kenna nodded, hanging on to Bash's every word. Usually, whenever Mary or James spoke about the local village, Kenna launched into a long rant about how _boring_ it was there, and how there was never enough to _do_ , but she didn't seem to want to say anything like that now.

As Kenna continued to admire the ring, somehow deciding that it was necessary to take hold of Bash's hand so she could see it up close, Mary wondered again if Bash's mother, who had apparently bought the ring for him, really was the woman who they had encountered at the village pub last night.

After a few more minutes of conversation between Bash and Kenna, with Mary standing awkwardly next to them, Bash bowed to the two of them before he left to head back to work.

"He's _gorgeous_!" Kenna declared the moment Bash walked away, with an almost mischievous grin on her face.

"Kenna!" Mary snapped at her. After all, Kenna was engaged to be married to Mary's brother, and Mary felt like Kenna was being rather disloyal at the moment by saying something like that about Bash.

Kenna didn't seem to agree. She made a point of sighing loudly and rolling her eyes. "It doesn't hurt to _look_ , Mary!" she snapped, making Mary feel clueless and completely out of her depth when it came to men, the way she always did. "There's nothing wrong with admiring from a distance! We didn't _all_ go to school in a convent, you know!"

Mary glared at her. This was Kenna's favourite insult to use about her, and she always ignored Mary's constant insistence that going to a school where a lot of the teachers were nuns was _not_ the same as living in a _convent_.

Even worse, Kenna had often implied that she believed Mary to be very _similar_ to the nuns who had educated her.

Kenna also liked to brag loudly to anyone who would listen about all the boys she'd already kissed before she met James, often leaving Mary feeling young and inexperienced in comparison.

Refusing to be drawn into an argument, Mary walked away from her, already planning on sitting as far away as possible from Kenna and James in the dining hall.

* * *

As the morning turned into afternoon, Mary and her family, along with Kenna and several other guests, ended up outside in the grounds, watching a game of Polo that had hastily been arranged by Mary's father and several staff members.

The players had divided up into two teams, with Francis and James playing on one side with two other team members, and Mary's father and Bash playing against them on the other team, along with a couple of others. Francis had really seemed to want Bash to play this particular game, confirming Mary's belief that the two of them were becoming friends.

As the players rode around on their horses, Mary stood watching them in the distance, with the rest of the spectators.

A few photographers swarmed around, enthusiastically snapping photos of the players and the spectators. Mary knew that games of Polo were seen as being very typical of royal families, and she imagined that the general public would be amused when they saw the photos and the footage of this game.

"Which team are you supporting?" a woman standing next to her asked in a seemingly casual voice.

Mary glanced over at her. It was very clear that the woman was a journalist, and that she would use whatever answer Mary gave to build some kind of article out of it.

"Francis's team, of course," Mary replied with a polite smile. It was the answer she was expected to give, after all. The journalist would have to look for controversy elsewhere. While the cameras were here, Mary would play by the rules.

She turned away from the woman and focused her attention on the crowd around her. Kenna's parents had arrived at the castle a couple of hours ago, and they were now standing on either side of her, only half-watching the game in the distance as they went on and on about how _wonderful_ Kenna looked in her light pink dress.

Mary's mother sat on a chair a little way back from the rest of the crowd, and Mary couldn't help noticing that she looked a bit tired at the moment; Mary really hoped that she was feeling okay. Lola stood behind the queen's chair, occasionally fetching glasses of water for her, and for the first time, Mary realised that Lola was becoming a rather valuable assistant to Queen Marie.

As a photographer took another picture of the spectators, Mary's mind drifted back to yesterday, when she'd been outside in the same garden walking with Francis as the cameras filmed their interaction. With a sigh, she thought about how the events of yesterday had quickly unravelled into an argument, with a little help from Narcisse.

Almost unconsciously, Mary looked up in the direction of the large window where Narcisse had stood yesterday. She jumped, startled, as she saw that somebody else was currently looking down from the large window, dressed all in black. But then her heartbeat returned to its normal rate again when she realised that it was just one of the castle guards, probably on a routine patrol of the corridors.

With an involuntary shudder, Mary tore her eyes away from the window and tried to focus on the game of Polo. As she'd expected, Francis was a very skilled Polo player, and he'd already scored several goals for his team.

Bash however, was a worthy opponent, and Mary wondered when and where Bash had learned to play Polo. Although she imagined he'd probably picked up his horse-riding skills through previous work in various stables. Perhaps he had worked somewhere like this before, riding horses in vast grounds of stately homes or playing games against royals.

For a little while, the scores were almost equal, until Francis scored yet another goal.

As the crowd applauded, Francis caught Mary's eye, and he smiled at her.

As surprised as she was by this gesture, Mary couldn't help smiling back at him. Perhaps Francis had only done it for the cameras, but still, his smile was friendly enough. At the very least, perhaps it meant that he had fully put yesterday's argument behind him.

Only a few minutes later, Bash was the one to score a goal, and he moved a little closer to the spectators as he rode in a circle in celebration.

As he got closer, Kenna leaned forward, staring at Bash as though mesmerised.

"No, Kenna," Kenna's mother whispered to her, shaking her head almost warningly until Kenna turned her gaze away from Bash.

"That boy's got 'rebel' written all over him," Kenna's father added in a tone of obvious disapproval.

Mary listened to this interaction with a frown on her face. She wondered what Kenna's father had meant by his comment.

For all that Kenna was pretending to ignore Bash for her parents' sake, she noticed that Bash smiled at her as he rode past, and Kenna managed to smile back at him.

Mary was distracted however, when Bash rode past her and smiled at her, too. Mary nodded at him, but she also managed a half-smile when she was sure the other spectators weren't looking. When it came to Bash, Mary always felt that the two of them were in on some sort of secret together, although she wasn't sure what that secret was supposed to be.

The moment Bash left them to re-join the game, Mary noticed Kenna look over her shoulder to stare at her, with a very curious expression on her face.

 _There are already too many secrets,_ Mary thought to herself, as she ignored Kenna and focused on the game again, just in time to see Francis score the winning goal.


	9. Chapter 9

The next few days passed by relatively peacefully.

With everyone in the castle distracted by Kenna's visit, and Francis's time often taken up by phone calls, meetings, conferences and various other royal duties, Mary was able to slip away from the castle unnoticed several times and head into the village.

Sometimes, on her visits to the village, she crept into the local pub, alone and disguised, with her face covered by various hats, where she would secretly listen in on the various meetings that took place there during late afternoons and early evenings, feeling overcome with curiosity to hear more about life outside the castle as several citizens of Scotland voiced their disapproval of the way that the country was run.

At other times, she snuck out of the castle with Bash after he finished work for the day, and the two of them would walk around the outskirts of the village, or by the river where Mary had always spent time with James, back before her older brother had decided that his royal duties had to take priority over anything else.

Of course, filming for the show still had to take place. After the Polo match on the day of Kenna's arrival, the cameras were next invited back into the castle to film a 'small', 'intimate' tea party that a few family friends had been invited to, along with several Scottish politicians.

Mary couldn't distictly remember the faces of many of the guests at the tea party, as events like that were so frequent at the castle, and the royal family had so many visitors, but several of the politicians in attendance suggested to her that she should perhaps pay a visit to the English Houses of Parliament, especially now that her brother was forging an alliance with England through marriage. They seemed to think that it would make for a good episode of the show if she made a speech about Scottish policies in London.

Once, Mary would not have been so keen on the idea of going to Parliament and making a speech, but with everything that had happened recently, and all the conversations she was overhearing in the village, she was now starting to wonder if it would perhaps be a good idea to try too talk about Scottish politics in public.

Filming that day also consisted of a tour around the castle, which Mary and Francis were expected to take the lead on, with the two of them walking around various rooms and up and down corridors and flights of stairs as a camera crew and several guards followed them.

The show's producers had insisted that this would be an excellent opportunity for viewers to learn more about the lives of the royal family, but privately, Mary suspected that they were just using the tour as an excuse to get a good look around the castle for themselves. Even the guards seemed much more interested than usual in viewing the rooms and the antique objects on display.

Although Mary and Francis didn't have the chance to spend much time together at the tea party, due to the fact that they were both expected to walk around the room and make polite conversation with all the guests, as well as all the television crew, Francis was still friendly with her, letting her take the lead with the tour of the castle, and nodding and smiling politely when she talked about the history of various portraits and antique objects for the benefit of the cameras.

Francis even brought several cups of tea over to Mary throughout the afternoon, even though Mary's mother frequently insisted that it was not socially acceptable for a future king to be carrying trays of tea and cake around the room.

It seemed that Francis was keeping to his part of the agreement to try to make this process as easy as possible for the two of them, which allowed Mary to relax a little as the cameras continued to film them throughout the day.

* * *

Deep down, Mary had a horrible feeling that the new-found peace wouldn't last. Her theory was proved correct not long after Kenna left the castle to return to her life in London for a little while, before she would next be expected to appear with the royal family as a guest at Greer's wedding.

In the morning, Mary was 'summoned' by her mother to the family's private dining room, where her parents-both of them with grave expressions on their faces-had displayed various magazine and newspaper articles on the table, including digital and print copies of all the latest headlines.

Every single front-page story seemed to focus on Kenna's visit to the castle, although none of them had anything positive to say. Instead, the journalists wrote seemingly endless words about just how expensive the designer pink dress that Kenna had worn had cost, along with the estimated price of all of her jewels, criticising the over-spending of the royal family and highlighting the fact that this was happening at a time when the country was in very serious debt, and many citizens lived in poverty.

Mary might have been used to stories like these-ever since the royal family had been re-established in Scotland, journalists had accused the royals of being 'out of touch' with the rest of the country, especially as the younger members of the family had been educated at exclusive private schools in London, away from Scotland-but still, it didn't stop the sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach as her mother frowned at a picture of Kenna posing in an expensive dress.

"We must do something to take the focus off this," Mary's mother muttered, almost to herself, as she took a sip of her strong cup of coffee and regarded yet another front page headline, while her father nodded and muttered something about 'damage control'.

For a brief, carefree moment, Mary imagined that she would not have to be involved in this 'damage control', but as usual, her assumptions were wrong.

She found out just how wrong she was when her mother called her in for a meeting in one of the castle's conference rooms right after breakfast.

"You will be expected to give an interview to Lord Castleroy soon," her mother informed her before Mary could even take a seat. "Standard procedure, as part of the matchmaking process..."

"Fine," Mary responded with a very un-princess-like shrug. She already knew that frequent interviews were a requirement of the television show; they were used to mark 'checkpoints' along the journey, letting viewers know how things were going, summarising the dating process for them and catching them up with how she and Francis were feeling about everything.

"And, in light of recent events, I was thinking..." her mother began, in a tone of voice that sounded far too casual for Mary's liking.

Mary frowned at her in suspicion. "You were thinking _what_?" she asked her mother, her eyes narrowed.

"Perhaps we could use this interview as a way of diverting attention from the negative press about Lady Kenna?" her mother asked.

"And how would 'we' do that?" Mary asked her in return, with her arms folded.

"In the interview," her mother continued, her tone of voice all-business now, "you try your best to appear casual, relaxed, down-to earth. We won't spend too much money on the clothes, or on the setting up of a fancy room for the interview. I'll tell Castleroy to ask questions about normal, every day topics; nothing too heavy, or any questions that might sound too 'out of touch'."

Mary could only shake her head, realising that she was going to be used yet again as a PR tool for the royals.

"And of course, you make sure to mention Francis at every opportunity; try to at least _act_ like a girl falling in love, even if you don't feel that way just yet. Smile and laugh, place your hand over your heart, blush and giggle-do whatever you must to sell the love story and distract everyone from all our other problems..."

Mary felt her heart start to beat faster, with the dread of having to put on a good show and act like a typical teenager-with-a-crush already starting to kick in.

"If we keep giving them a romance to invest in," her mother insisted, "perhaps they will forget about all their plans to riot and protest, if only for a while..."

* * *

Mary was not so sure that things were that simple, but still, a few days later, she found herself standing in front of the large mirror that had been moved to the centre of the television room, taking in her reflection as Narcisse paced up and down the room and she waited to be called for her interview with Aloysius Castleroy.

She stared at her reflection, almost unable to recognise the girl who was staring right back at her with a very nervous expression on her face.

For today's interview, the sylists had dressed her in a plain-and-simple outfit: a white, off-the-shoulder shirt, black trousers and black shoes with a small heel. Her hair had been tied into one braid, which hung loosely over her left shoulder. The only piece of jewelery she had been permitted to wear was the small silver key, which hung as usual from its black ribbon around her neck.

It didn't take an expert to work out the kind of image the stylists were going for-as she continued to stare at her reflection, Mary knew that she looked young, innocent, non-threatening. Her clothes were not expensive or extravagant, and her jewelery was minimal. She looked like a typical teenage girl who did not have the means nor the inclination to be overly careless with her words, or overly extravagant with her money.

After a couple more minutes of aimlessly staring into the mirror, Mary noticed that Narcisse had started to walk in circles around her, with a calculating expression on his face.

As she stared at him, Mary felt strangely as though she had stepped into some sort of lion's den, with no armour or weapons to defend herself.

"This could be a very important interview for you," he murmured, as he continued to circle her, his hand on his chin like he was deep in thought.

"This is a very important interview for my _mother_ ," Mary corrected him with a sigh. She was under no illusion that the purpose of this interview was for anything other than to provide some good publicity for the Scottish crown.

"Not necessarily," Narcisse replied with a shrug that seemed far too innocent.

Mary knew that she probably shouldn't ask, but she couldn't help herself: "What do you mean?"

"You have been given a platform here; air time, publicity, _exposure_. This is your chance to show the public who you really are. To talk about your hopes, your dreams, your goals...your political ideas, even. Now that you're a 'television star', people are curious about you. They're _listening_ now, Mary. You are potentially a future queen, and your subjects will be _very_ interested to hear what you have to say..."

"My brother is the heir to the throne," Mary responded automatically. She had been saying this for so long that it had now become second nature to her.

"Not in France," Narcisse whispered with a very significant expression on his face as he took a step closer to her. "You are naive if you think that only Scotland will be watching today."

Mary blinked a few times in quick succession as she stared back at her reflection. She had never even considered the idea that the French public would be watching all of her television appearances, too, or the idea that they might already consider her as their next queen.

"You do not have to blindly follow you mother's orders," Narcisse continued to whisper to her. "This matchmaking process is an opportunity to act in _your_ own best interests, too. Why shouldn't you take advantage of the opportunity?

Mary was about to say something in response, but Narcisse was suddenly called out of the room by one of the television producers. He was scheduled to go downstairs to the room where the interview would be taking place and take his seat among the audience before the cameras started rolling.

With a final nod in her direction, he left the room, leaving Mary alone with her thoughts and with a few remaining members of the Publicity Team as she waited to be called down to the interview room, too.

Trying to ignore her ever-growing nerves as the minutes ticked away, Mary passed the time by going through a couple of the pages of the document her mother and Narcisse had put together for today's interview. Mary read over a few of the pre-planned questions that were going to be asked-she had already gone through her answers with Narcisse for the past couple of days. She also read over a few of the paragraphs which focused on other possible questions that might be asked, and suggestions for possible answers to these questions, but she kept getting distracted by the sound of a clock ticking, and thinking about how the seconds were racing away from her.

She had just gone back to turning the pages of the document when a loud knocking sound made her jump.

It seemed that most of the other people in the room were occupied looking at their phones and standing and talking to each other in small groups, so Mary went to open the door.

When she opened it, she was a bit surprised to see a guard standing on the other side, dressed all in black, with a very serious expression on his face.

"Your highness," he greeted her with a curt nod, before he continued: "Your Publicist has put in a last-minute request that you wear this pin today for your interview." He held out his hand, where the pin was resting on his palm.

Mary stared at it, and she almost gasped in shock-it was in the shape of a bird in flight, with the bird's wings spread wide, its head looking upwards, as though it was staring up at the sky.

Although she felt the usual prickle of curiosity-and the urge to quickly take hold of the pin and display in proudly on her shirt-she couldn't help feeling a little surprised at the last minute request; the plans for today's outfit had seemed to be set in stone, and nobody had mentioned anything about this bird-in-flight pin.

"Narcisse has asked me to wear this?" Mary asked him with a confused frown. The guard's face did not look familiar, but that wasn't exactly unusual-there were many guards who worked at the castle, and Mary's mother had only very recently recruited several new guards in a bid to tighten security.

"Yes, Princess," the guard replied, almost a little too quickly. Yet the almost-bored look on his face suggested that he had simply been sent to the room as a messenger and probably didn't want to be asked too many questions about Narcisse's plans, as he didn't actually know the answers, or care either way.

With a shrug, Mary accepted the pin from the guard, before she thanked him and gently closed the door.

After a few more seconds of hesitation, Mary pinned the bird-in-flight to the left-hand side of her shirt. She stared at it in the mirror for a little while, in barely-disguised fascination-it was a symbol that seemed to be appearing before her everywhere she went lately, although she still had no idea what it was supposed to mean. Sometimes, it felt like the bird was dancing just out of her reach, not yet ready to reveal its secrets-or perhaps it was simply waiting for her to take off after it.

But then Mary snapped out of her daydream about birds soaring into the sky as she started to think more logically. Perhaps Narcisse had simply decided that the bird pin looked sweet-and-innocent; a harmless, inexpensive piece of jewelery that a young girl would buy, and that was why he had probably decided she should wear it on camera today.

There was another knock on the door, and then a member of the television crew was swooping into the room, telling her that it was time to go and give her interview.

* * *

The setting for the interview was even more relaxed and informal than Mary could have imagined. Her mother had decided that it should take place in the drawing room, in two comfortable chairs by the fireplace.

Of course, several members of the royal family were there, including Mary's brother, and then there was Francis, who had been seated near the front of the room, at a convenient angle for the cameras to film him and take pictures throughout Mary's interview, no doubt so that they could use the footage for the next episode of the show.

A few members of the public had also been invited, most of them young girls who seemed to be Mary's age or perhaps a couple of years younger, and the rest of the seats were taken up by various members of staff who worked at the castle, who seemed to have been asked to sit in on the interview to make the room look more full, and to make it seem as though Mary had a large, captive audience just waiting to hear what she had to say.

Lord Castleroy's smile was friendly as Mary walked through the audience and towards the chairs at the front of the room, and there seemed to be less tension in the air than there had been during the first television appearance in the Throne Room.

"Mary!" he beamed at her, the second she had sat down, his tone of voice and the more informal setting helping her to relax a little.

She could almost ignore the fact that there were several cameras filming her from every angle, and the fact that a few guards were leaning against the walls with their arms folded, and of course the fact that the journalists and the members of the public in the room were holding their phones, ready to capture every single word and gesture, especially the unguarded ones.

Mary kept her eyes fixed on the audience for a few seconds longer. First she looked at Francis, who was looking very handsome, although he didn't seem to have received the memo about the more informal approach today, as his white, long-sleeved shirt looked very expensive. He was standing close to one of the large windows in the room, and the sunlight shining through the glass seemed to reflect perfectly on his golden hair. Mary imagined that several photographers in the room would want to take advantage of this perfect angle when they took photos of him.

Then she noticed Bash, who was sitting near the back of the room. He gave her the slightest hint of a smirk when she caught his eye, and Mary tried not to smile back at him. She knew that if she and Bash had gone to school together in London, he would have been such a distraction to her-the two of them probably would have sat at the back of the classroom, laughing at all the teachers and their old-fashioned views.

Lola was also sitting in the room, a few rows in front of Bash with a clipboard in her hand.

Narcisse stood in a far corner of the room, surrounded by a few other members of Mary's publicity team. He was standing far away enough that he was out of sight of the cameras, but close enough that he would be able to offer Mary a few silent prompts if she struggled at any point during the interview.

Yet Mary's mother was notably absent. This threw Mary for a second-normally, her mother liked to oversee _everything_. She realised that by leaving her alone to do this, her mother might actually be _trusting_ her for the first time ever to do this 'damage control' properly without being instructed like a child on how to behave in public.

The interview started gently enough. While Mary made sure to sit correctly and to look sweet and innocent and to smile at all the right moments, Castleroy asked her a few questions that several of the television show's viewers had sent in via various social media pages-the questions were fairly innocent, mainly about things like her favourite colour, and her favourite food, and some of her favourite dresses she'd worn at royal events (Mary made sure not to talk about the more expensive dresses that she'd previously worn at parties and on royal tours).

As she was talking, she glanced discreetly over at Narcisse, who nodded subtletly at her, silenty letting her know that she was on the right track.

Feeling a little more relaxed now that Narcisse had given his seal of approval, Mary continued to answer the social media questions, opening up to the audience about some of her hobbies and interests: she talked about her favourite books, and how she liked to draw and paint in her free time. As she spoke about her pictures, almost unconsciously, she reached a hand up to touch the key that was still hanging from the ribbon around her neck, but then she quickly let her hand fall when she realised she was doing it.

Most of the people in the audience seemed both surprised and impressed that she was so passionate about drawing and painting, which made Mary think that perhaps the members of the royal family should showcase their talents a litte more.

Then, Mary talked about her school days in London. Again, the audience seemed surprised when she mentioned how much she had enjoyed studying history and politics and economics, and there were definitely a few whispers of approval when Mary recited several facts about Scottish history that she'd memorised over the years, along with a few figures that she knew from memory which related to the royal budget. Even Francis looked impressed.

Mary was almost enjoying herself. It was so much easier to do this, she realised, when she was speaking in honesty; when she was just being herself and talking about topics that actually interested her.

Mary even spoke a little French for them, making sure to joke about how her skills in the language were lacking, and how she would definitely need to practice, which drew a laugh from the audience. To Mary's surprise, they even gave her a round of applause when she spoke a few more words in French about French royal policies.

"So, Mary," said Aloysius, his tone of voice suddenly a little more serious, "let's say you were a queen, ruling your own country. What's the first thing you would do?"

It seemed like all the talk of history and politics had encouraged Aloysius to ask a question that attempted to delve a little deeper than the previous questions about her favourite colour and her favourite outfit.

Feeling a little thrown by the question, Mary stopped to think for a few moments before she answered. When she _really_ thought about it, she knew that there were lots of things that she would like to do-or, more accurately a lot of things that she would like to change; things she would do differently. All of the speeches and proposals secretly saved on her computer would back these ideas up.

She had just never allowed herself to put any of these proposals into words before, fixed as she had always been in her position as the second-born royal daughter who always had to do as she was told. But then Narcisse's words in the television room came back to her-about how people were listening to her now, and how she should use the opportunity to show people who she really was.

In the end, Mary decided to answer with something that had been on her mind a lot recently: "I would try my best to negotiate with those who are...dissatisfied with the policies of the royal family," she said seriously, thinking as she spoke about all those people who had to meet in secret in hidden corners of the local pub so they could talk about how they were suffering as a result of current Scottish rules and policies.

A few murmurs seemed to echo through the otherwise silent room the moment Mary finished answering the question.

Feeling a sudden, strange shift in the mood, and an increase in tension in the air, Mary discreetly looked at Narcisse, to see if she had made a mistake in what she had just said.

But still, Narcisse nodded at her, and he even lifted his hands to give her a discreet thumbs-up.

"Interesting," said Aloysius, as Mary continued to talk about the citizens who were perhaps not so happy with the policies of the Scottish royal family, but she couldn't help noticing the rather nervous expression on his face.

Of course, Mary knew that the focus of the interview would soon have to shift to the matchmaking process-there was still a television show to film, after all. Perhaps sooner than she would have liked, the topic of conversation turned to Francis and the royal matchmaking show.

Mary went back to 'autopilot', giving the answers that she had already rehearsed with Narcisse-keeping things vague, but still trying to keep people interested in the show at the same time.

She talked about her walk with Francis in the grounds (making sure not to mention the argument they'd had that day), and also the game of Polo when Kenna had visited, and the royal tea party, and the tour around the castle.

Aloysius asked her several times when she was planning a visit to France to meet with Francis's family-the French royals-as apparently most of the show's viewers had been asking the same question, and it seemed that they thought this visit to France would play a necesary part in the matchmaking process.

Mary wasn't sure what to say in response. She had put all thoughts of a possible visit to France to the back of her mind, as the idea of spending time in Francis's home country, at a place that held such awful memories, where she would be alone with Francis and with only King Henry and Queen Catherine to provide her with other company, absolutely terrified her, especially as she and Francis hadn't really spent much time together yet to get to know each other.

Briefly, Mary considered acting the way that Kenna would act in a situation like this-smiling and waggling her finger and saying, "Now, now, Aloysius! You know that a princess never tells!" but she wasn't sure that she would get away with it the way that Kenna always did.

Instead, Mary had to resort to her default reaction of keeping things vague. "Nothing has been arranged just yet, so we will have to see," she replied, making sure to smile.

In order to compensate for being so vague, Mary continued to talk about the time she had spent with Francis so far, while at the same time deliberately avoiding meeting his eye as he watched her from the front row. She wasn't sure how he was going to react to her apparent reluctance to set a date for a visit to France.

As she continued to talk about the matchmaking process, Mary even used a gesture that she was copying from Kenna, where she deliberately flicked her braided hair over her shoulder as she pretended to giggle, trying to look like a typical young-girl-with-a-crush.

Yet, the moment she turned a little in her seat to try to observe the audience's reaction to this gesture, she noticed Bash staring at her with wide eyes, looking horrified.

Feeling suddenly anxious, Mary looked at other people in the audience, to see if she had done something wrong, or if she had missed something, but nobody else seemed to be looking at her in wide-eyed horror the way that Bash was.

She looked at Bash again; it seemed that his eyes were focused directly on the bird-in-flight pin. Mary felt her heartbeat pick up its pace. She had no idea what was going on, or why he was staring so intently at her pin, but she didn't like his reaction one bit.

Quickly, Mary grabbed hold of her hair and pulled it back over her shoulder, covering up the pin again. She didn't know what had caused Bash's reaction, but something about it made her feel like she had to hide the bird pin on her white shirt.

She was forced to focus on the interview again when Aloysius 'suggested' that Francis come up to the front of the room, so that the audience could 'get a good look at the two of them together'.

Of course, the enthusiastic screaming from the audience made this suggestion impossible to refuse, and so Mary was joined at the front of the room by Francis, who seemed to be struggling to keep a neutral expression on his face as he stood next to Mary so the two of them could pose for the cameras (and the screaming audience) with their arms around one another.

Mary was reminded of all the actors from her favourite television shows; the ones who stood up on stage at events in front of an audience of their fans and performed for the cameras, posing for viewers and photographers alike as they played up to their on-screen love stories.

Yet this was not a television show. She and Francis were not actors. There was no script to follow. This was all real, and there was so much history between the two of them; so much that had not yet been said. And still, they had to pose awkwardly for an audience with their arms around one other, the two of them forcing their smiles and trying to give everyone a glimpse of what they would look like as a couple, and perhaps more importantly, what they would look like as the future king and queen of France.

It was all too much, and again Mary felt that sensation of the room spinning around.

As though he could sense that Mary might lose her balance at any moment, Francis held her a little tighter, placing one hand gently on her arm, as though waiting to catch her if she fell.

As Mary looked into his eyes, the room suddenly stopped spinning around, and the vague outline of another memory started to dance around her mind-most of it just out of reach...

 _She was walking through a forest, with white petals falling gently onto her head. Francis was standing a few feet ahead of her, but he looked much younger..._

Mary was abruptly pulled out of this memory when Aloysius started to laugh and joke about how 'wonderful' the two of them looked together. As Mary blinked rapidly, feeling a little annoyed that this memory had slipped away, he wished them both luck with the rest of the process-it seemed he was getting ready to wrap things up.

Then, just before he could head back to his seat, Francis also seemed to notice the pin that Mary was wearing. He frowned at it, and then for some reason, his eyes narrowed in Narcisse's direction. He glared at Narcisse suspiciously for a few moments, apparently forgetting for a second that there were cameras pointed right at him, before he headed back to his seat.

Instantly, he took out his phone, and he seemed to be searching for something on the screen, a troubled expression on his face. It also seemed that he could no longer look in Mary's direction.

The moment the interview came to a close, and the audience gave Mary a final round of applause, Francis excused himself from the room, a look of concern still on his face and his phone pressed to his ear, as though he was about to take a call.

Following his lead, Mary also excused herself from the room, feeling an ever-increasing sense of panic and confusion.

James frowned at her as she walked out, apparently clueless as to why she looked so worried, but Mary ignored him.

* * *

Not really sure where she was going, Mary headed vaguely in the direction of the televison room, deciding that she would wait for Narcisse there and question him as to what had just happened.

She had only taken a few steps however, when she overheard the sound of Francis's voice, coming from the nearest meeting room. He seemed to be in conversation with someone.

Mary crept closer to the meeting room door, taking care not to be noticed.

Francis was standing in the room with his back to her, his phone in his hand. After a few more seconds of eavesdropping, Mary worked out that he was on a video chat with his mother, whose face Mary could just about make out on the screen of Francis's phone.

"Narcisse must _really_ despise her..." Mary heard Catherine tell Francis in a low voice.

Again, Mary frowned in confusion. What were they talking about? Had Narcisse just done something wrong-something to ruin her interview?

As Francis suddenly started to turn back around in the direction of the door, Mary jumped and darted out of sight.

Picking up her pace, she really did run in the direction of the television room this time. When she got there, she stepped inside, closing the door behind her before she took a few deep breaths.

What was going on? What had just happened? Why had both Francis and Bash looked so concerned during the interview?

Suddenly, the door flew open. Mary jumped and turned towards it, fully expecting to see Narcisse. She was therefore more than a little surprised to see Bash, who was taking rapid steps towards her with an expression of fear on his face.

"Bash, what is it? Mary asked him, trying to keep the tone of panic out of her voice.

"Mary, what are you doing, wearing a symbol like that on television?" said Bash in a frantic whisper.

"What do you mean?" Mary asked him, her voice shaking as she placed a hand almost protectively over the bird-in-flight pin.

"That's a rebel symbol, Mary!" Bash exclaimed, and Mary could tell that he was struggling to remain calm and keep his composure. "People who wear bird-in-flight symbols are no friends of the Scottish crown! Regardless of any personal views you might hold, your family won't thank you for wearing something like that in public."

Now starting to feel a little sick, Mary removed her hand from the pin, almost as though it would burn her, if she kept hold of it for too long.

A rebel symbol. So that was what the bird-in-flight meant. For so long, she had wondered; she had read book after book, and scrolled endlessly through websites, trying to find its hidden meaning, and now, finally she had the answer, and the timing of it couldn't have been any worse.

"By wearing something like that, you'll only antagonise the people of Scotland," Bash continued, still looking panicked, "and potential rebels who understand its meaning could take it as encouragement to plot against the crown..."

"Bash," said Mary, her voice still shaking, "how do you know all this?" _And why do you care so much?_ she almost asked him, too.

Before Bash could answer, Narcisse walked into the room.

Quickly, Bash took a step away from her, as though he and Mary had been caught doing something wrong.

"Princess," said Narcisse, his voice silky smooth, without a hint of real worry, "it seems that there's been some...confusion about today's events. Perhaps we should discuss a few things in private?"

Taking this as his cue to leave, Bash hurriedly bowed to Mary and walked out of the room, casting a few worried-looking glances over his shoulder in Mary's direction as he went.

"Did you ask me to wear this pin today?" Mary asked Narcisse immediately, before he could say anything else.

Hurriedly, she removed the pin from her white shirt and held it out for him to see.

"Of course not," Narcisse replied, as though this answer was obvious.

"Did you send a guard to ask me to wear it on your behalf?" Mary continued, desperately needing to know the truth, and quickly.

"No," Narcisse replied, looking at Mary like she was a child who had no clue how the world worked.

"Did you know the meaning behind the symbol, and how it could be linked to Scottish rebels?" she asked, keeping her eyes fixed on him, looking for any hint of deception.

He shook his head.

He actually looked convincing, but still, so many thoughts seemed to whirl around Mary's mind. She thought about Narcisse's reactions during the interview-how he'd encouraged her to keep talking as she wrecklessly made statements that could be seen as pro-rebel. She thought about how the guard had told her that Narcisse had sent him. She thought about Francis, and how much he seemed to hate and mistrust him. She thought about what Catherine had just said to her son, about how Narcisse must despise her...

Narcisse must have seen the look of doubt on her face, because he frowned at her as he continued. "Clearly there has been some kind of misunderstanding, or miscommunication." His tone was firmer now, and Mary felt as though she was being put in her place, or being patronised. "I am employed to help your cause, not to turn Scotland against you."

But still, he said the words with such sincerity, and Mary really wanted to believe him. She had to believe him. She already doubted and mistrusted so many others, and she really needed somebody on her side right now. She needed to not be wrong about this.

Suddenly, she felt afraid; afraid of her own foolish thoughts and actions. A life as a Scottish rebel might have been some childish dream of hers, an unrealistic fantasy, but still, an interview in the Scottish castle had not been the time or the place to wear rebel symbols. She couldn't be seen to promote a cause that she didn't truly understand. Today had been all about positive publicity, and she had no doubt brought the exact opposite to Scotland.

And, even worse, the choice had been taken out of her hands. She had been tricked into wearing something that would antagonise the Scottish people and bring even more negative publicity to the royals. Whether she had been deceived by Narcisse, or a castle guard, or somebody else, Mary wasn't sure. And now _she_ would have to deal with the consequences of today's interview, through no fault of her own.

Mary opened her mouth to say something else to Narcisse, maybe to explain about the guard showing up at the television room just after he had left, or to ask him yet again to promise her that he hadn't played a part in today's debacle, but before she could, the door burst open again.

This time, Francis strode into the room. He took one look at Narcisse, and his expression turned thunderous.

"Leave us!" he demanded, his voice full of anger as he glared at Narcisse. Right now, Mary knew that she was dealing with Francis-the-prince rather than Francis-the-childhood-friend who had promised to help her get through this process.

Narcisse simply shrugged and headed out of the room. Still, he did not look the slightest bit perplexed, and Mary really started to worry that he was enjoying all this drama.

Feeling suddenly irritated at Narcisse's abrupt dimissal from the room, Mary glared at Francis and folded her arms, waiting for him to speak.

Francis's expression changed from a look of anger to one of fear.

"Mary," he said, as he started to pace up and down the room, his hands held out as though in a gesture of surrender, "I'm asking you to _please_ reconsider your decision to use Narcisse as your Publicist."

Francis's voice was shaking, and Mary couldn't tell if he sounded more angry or afraid.

And yet, all she could feel was anger. Anger that Francis believed he had a right to do this-to ask her to dismiss her staff, to question her judgement, and anger at herself for possibly being mistaken in putting her trust in Narcisse in the first place.

"He has done nothing wrong!" Mary insisted, the words leaving her lips before she could think things through. She wanted to believe it; she had to believe it. Otherwise, she would have to face the fact that she had been so easily duped; that she had walked into danger again just like that silly, naive sixteen-year-old girl who had snuck into the French castle.

Francis actually rolled his eyes at Mary's defense of Narcisse, causing Mary's level of anger to increase.

"Mary," he sighed, "even you can't deny that he has placed you in a terrible situation today. I don't know very much about Scottish symbols, but there are already whispers going around that you were wearing a rebel symbol during your interview today. Narcisse allowed you to sit there and to say what you said about helping those who don't support your own family! People were taking photos of you in that room-pictures of you wearing that symbol will already by circulating the Internet. And still he shows no hint of remorse!"

"He has denied all knowledge of it!" Mary protested, feeling another flash of anger. She knew she must sound like a petulant child right now, but she didn't care.

Francis seemed to take a few deep breaths before he spoke again. "Mary, you must at least _suspect_ that Narcisse had something to do with the decision for you to wear that symbol today-"

"He had no idea what the symbol meant!" Mary continued to insist, hoping rather than believing this to be true.

"Mary, he is no friend of yours," Francis responded, a warning tone to his voice now. "He is here in Scotland entirely for his own gain. People much older than you have been fooled by his lies, his deceptions. There are so many other worthy Publicists you could employ, before it's too late. This process will be much easier for you if you dismiss him-"

Mary wasn't sure whether it was anger or fear that was driving her words and her actions right now, but either way, she felt like she was losing control of the situation.

"I am _not_ your subject," Mary told Francis firmly, whose eyes widened in shock at this statement.

She still wasn't sure if she believed Narcisse herself, but she was sick of this; sick of being told what to do by royals like Francis, James, her mother...and by camera crews and Publicity Teams. She was sick of being lied to and deceived. "And _your_ personal grudge against Narcisse has _nothing_ to do with me! Perhaps you are simply jealous of how close he is to Lola!" she couldn't help accusing him, voicing for the first time her deep-rooted anxiety-or maybe it was jealousy-that Francis preferred spending time with Lola to her.

"Mary, this is not about-" Francis started, a bewildered expression on his face, but then he seemed to stop himself. "You know nothing of his history," he finished.

"Regardless of the deal your father has struck up with Scotland, I will _not_ be told what to do by France!" she continued. "And perhaps I would know more about your history with Narcisse if you actually _told_ me, Francis!"

She couldn't hide the hint of sadness in her own voice as she finished her sentence.

 _You are keeping secrets from me, too, Francis, just like everybody else!_ she almost added.

Before Francis could say anything else, Mary turned on her heel so that she could storm out of the room.

When she got to the doorway, she turned back and glared at him. "I am only answerable to my own country! To Scotland! Not to France! And," she added, her tone of voice a lot more level now, but no less angry, "you are not to dismiss a member of _my_ staff from a room ever again!"

With that, Mary left the room and slammed the door behind her. She leaned against the closed door for a few seconds, letting out a shout of anger before she sighed and started to move away from the door.

Then, just to make things worse, she walked out into the corridor just in time to see her mother, who had no doubt overheard every word of her argument with Francis. She was leaning against the opposite wall and glaring at her daughter with an expression of pure fury, silently letting Mary know just how badly she had messed things up.


	10. Chapter 10

By the time the day of Greer's wedding arrived, Mary was in little mood to celebrate.

The so-called 'rebel symbol' she seemed to have been tricked into wearing during her interview might have (thankfully) gone largely unnoticed by most members of the general public, and she might have come up with the idea to 'casually' mention in a magazine interview that the pin had been given to her as a gift by a child standing in the crowd on the family's last royal tour abroad, in a country where the symbol no doubt meant something different, in order to try to stop any rumours from spreading, but none of this changed the fact that Mary was currently being treated like a child in disgrace.

The royal family had been unable to fully hush up the whispers going around the country as to why Mary might have chosen to pin that particular symbol to her shirt in the first place, and her mother, already furious with Mary after overhearing her argument with Francis, had also started to suspect that Mary and Narcisse had been in on some kind of scheme to disgrace the royal family together.

It hadn't helped that Mary had been unable to identify the guard who had showed up at the television room door and asked her to wear the pin in the first place-it was almost as though he had vanished from the castle completely, and so the finger of suspicion had instead continued to point at Narcisse.

As a result, Narcisse had been 'temporarily suspended' from his role as Mary's Publicist by Mary's mother, much to Mary's fury.

"You are doing Francis's dirty work for him!" Mary had screamed at her mother when the news was first announced, but all of her protests had fallen on deaf ears.

It wasn't as though Mary was particularly attached to Narcisse as a person after only knowing him for a short time, but she had started to rely on him in his role as her Publicist, and now she was concerned that he had gone for good.

After all of this conflict, the queen had not allowed Mary to take part in any official royal engagements over the past week, aside from a couple of tabloid magazine interviews to 'smooth things over', as it seemed that she no longer trusted her not to do more damage to the royal family's reputation in Scotland.

Filming for the matchmaking show had also been put on hold for a few days, and so Mary had instead spent most of the week meeting with a few staff members to plan the logistics of her trip to Edinburgh to take part in Greer's wedding, while her parents and her brother continued to attend to their royal duties.

To make matters even worse, Francis had suddenly returned to France only a couple of days ago, as apparently some sort of 'urgent royal business' had come up at the French castle, and his presence was required at home.

Deep down, Mary suspected that he had simply used this urgent business as an excuse to leave Scotland, and a part of her feared that he might not return, especially as she and Francis had barely spoken since their argument and after Narcisse's suspension from his job.

As angry as she still felt about everything, already, a feeling of regret was starting to overwhelm her.

However, Mary knew that she had to put on a brave face as she walked down the stone steps outside the castle and towards the cars parked on the driveway that would take them all to the wedding, as several photographers were waiting outside the castle to take pictures.

Her long, black skirt trailed over the ground as she slowly descended the steps, trying her best to keep her head held high, and trying not to let her troubled thoughts reflect on her face.

It was still early in the morning, and the air was damp and misty, adding to a general sense of gloom in the atmosphere.

Mary wanted to be optimistic, she really did-Greer was one of her closest friends, and today would be the happiest day of Greer's life, and Mary felt so honoured to be her bridesmaid, but in spite of all that, she felt like the cold, misty weather was more reflective of her mood right now.

She was grateful to arrive at the waiting car, where she was hoping to hide away for a couple of hours and not have to face photographers or journalists for a little while.

A few members of staff were waiting around the driveway, ready to offer assistance to the royal family if it was required. Mary noticed Bash, who was waiting by the car that she would be travelling in. As she took a step closer to the car door, Bash reached out a hand to help her into the car, and Mary took it, managing to smile back at him when he grinned at her. They hadn't talked much since he had revealed to her the meaning behind the symbol she was wearing after her interview, but still, Mary was happy to see a friendly face.

Mary would be travelling to Edinburgh with Lola today, and when she finally got in the car and took her seat, Lola was already sitting down with her seatbelt fastened, watching Mary with what looked like a suspicious expression.

"Be careful with Bash, Mary," Lola told her in a warning tone of voice, the second the car door was closed, "he has feelings for you..."

For a moment, Mary felt confused as to what Lola was trying to say, but then she couldn't help feeling a little annoyed that Lola had felt it was necessary to warn her about Bash like that, and she had to try her best not to frown at her.

Still, she really didn't want to get into an argument with Lola at the moment, not when she was already feeling so angry with everybody else. The two of them had developed a sort of friendship in the short time that Lola had been working at the castle, and they had even watched a couple of episodes of the matchmaking show together in the television room.

The first episode of the show had focused on the opening ceremony and the ball, with a few interviews given by Mary's parents thrown in, and the second episode had focused on Mary and Francis's walk in the grounds, as well as Kenna's visit to the castle. From what Mary's Publicity Team had told her, the viewing figures were fairly steady, and viewers were definitely intrigued by the prospect of a romance between Francis and Mary, but Mary had a feeling that they would have to do more soon to really engage the viewers-if the show was going to continue at all, that is.

Mary had felt relieved when it was first decided that she could travel to Edinburgh in the car with Lola, as she hadn't really wanted to travel with her parents or her brother and face long lectures from any of them, but now it seemed like Lola was speaking to her in the same way that her mother always spoke to her.

Instead of responding to what Lola had just said, Mary simply shrugged and took out her phone as the car started moving.

Several cars were following behind them, as Mary's parents and Kenna and James would also be attending the wedding, along with several members of staff of James's choosing, like Lola, who would be able to assist them at the event.

Deciding not to think about everything else that was going on around her at the moment, Mary scrolled through a couple of social media sites, trying to discover for herself what the public reactions were to the first couple of episodes of the show.

The photo of Francis and Mary walking into the ballroom hand-in-hand had definitely been a popular one, and many fans of the show had shared it on their pages.

Another image that had proved to be popular was the one of Francis holding on to Mary and helping her up after she fell during their walk in the grounds. The photographers seemed to have captured the moment from a perfect angle, with the two of them looking into each other's eyes, and even Mary had to admit that the picture on its own, with no context provided, looked rather romantic.

In general, it looked like most young fans of the show were supportive of the matchmaking process, and they seemed to think that Mary and Francis would make a good couple. Again, Mary couldn't help feeling nervous that their hopes might be dashed now that Francis had returned to France.

Mary focused on a few more of the pictures that had been widely shared on social media pages, including a few photographs of Mary and Francis standing on the castle steps while they waited for Kenna to arrive.

 _The way he looks at her!_ one fan of the show had written about Francis in the comments section of one of the photographs that depicted Francis glancing over at Mary from where he had stood on the steps.

Mary felt a strange rush of emotion as she read the comment and looked at the picture. Suddenly, she could no longer stand to look at pictures and comments anymore. Hurriedly, she turned off her phone, and leaned her head against the window.

* * *

Mary realised that she must have dozed off at some point during the journey, because it seemed like one moment she was gazing out of the car window at the Scottish countryside, and the next, she was opening her eyes to find herself in the city of Edinburgh.

As the car headed in the direction of the hotel where Greer and Mary would be getting ready for the wedding ceremony, Mary only half-listened to Lola as she talked about the wedding and speculated as to which guests would be attending. From the glum expression on Lola's face however, and the ocassional sigh, Mary suspected that she wished that Narcisse would be attending.

Eventually, they arrived at the hotel. Mary was led away by several members of the security team towards the private suite where the bridal party was getting ready.

When Mary opened the door to the suite, Greer was standing in the middle of the room wearing a long, silk robe, her hair already styled and a contented smile on her face.

"Mary," said Greer, her tone of voice affectionate as she smiled and waved in Mary's direction.

"Oh, Greer," said Mary, as she smiled back at her.

She practically ran towards her best friend, and the two of them hugged. It had been so long since they had last seen each other, and Mary felt an overwhelming sense of relief to see her old friend again; a sense of relief at getting to see a familiar face-somebody who had known her for a long time-especially when it felt like so much had changed over the past few weeks. She realised just how much she had missed her.

A part of her longed for her school days in London, back when she and Greer had spent their days together; back when they would giggle at Kenna's 'ridiculous' schemes to marry a prince; back when Mary would secretly follow Francis around London, trying to work out where he was going.

The two of them didn't have too long to catch up, as Mary was rushed over towards the hair and makeup team while Greer went to put on her wedding dress, and then Mary was led over towards another team of stylists so that they could help her change into her bridesmaid's dress.

Finally, Mary stood next to Greer in front of a full-length mirror that had been set up in the room, the two of them admiring their dresses.

Of course, Mary loved her black silk, off-the-shoulder bridesmaid dress, but it was Greer's dress that really stood out. Greer's cream-coloured wedding dress was beautiful, with its ballgown style and its intricate details.

Mary had never really thought too much about weddings and wedding dresses before, but she couldn't help gazing admiringly at Greer's dress.

When Greer caught her eye in the mirror and smiled at her, Mary couldn't resist asking her something that she had been thinking about for a little while: "How did you know that Aloysius was the man you wanted to marry? How did you know that he was The One?"

Mary thought it would perhaps be in bad taste to mention Greer's past relationship with Leith on her wedding day, but she could tell from the look on Greer's face that Greer had guessed what Mary was trying to ask-how, after her years with Leith, had Greer come to decide that Lord Castleroy was the man she loved, and so quickly as well?

"I'll always have happy memories of my time with Leith, Mary," Greer replied, looking thoughtful. "But people change; as we grow up, we find we have different dreams, and goals. Sometimes, when we get older, we realise that the boys we had crushes on as schoolgirls do not turn out to be the same men we love when we are women."

Before Mary could say anything in response, they were both called away from the mirror by the Events Team. It seemed that the cars had arrived to take the bridal party to Edinburgh Cathedral, where the ceremony would be taking place.

Mary headed out of the hotel, lost in thought about what Greer had just said.

* * *

The area outside the cathedral might have been packed full of photographers and well-wishers, all of them eager to catch a glimpse of the rather famous groom, and the Scottish royal family as they all arrived at the ceremony, but it was easy for Mary to forget about all of that once they were inside.

The beautifully decorated interior of the cathedral would have been breathtaking in itself, with it high, domed ceiling, its pillars, and its stained glass windows and brightly-coloured murals, but it was the happy atmosphere that truly made the place seem beautiful.

Lord Castleroy beamed as Greer walked down the aisle towards him, looking like the happiest man on Earth.

Greer looked equally happy as she smiled at her soon-to-be husband.

The children all looked adorable in their outfits, dressed up as paigeboys and flowergirls. Many of the guests smiled happily at them as they walked down the aisle.

The wedding vows were heartfelt and emotional, and all the guests cheered loudly when Greer and Aloysius were finally announced as husband and wife.

Even Mary couldn't help being influenced by the happy mood, in spite of everything else that was going on in her life at the moment. She smiled happily as she walked down the aisle as Greer's bridesmaid, and then she felt a little emotional when the bride and groom kissed at the end of the ceremony to another enthusiastic round of applause.

It was easy to get lost in the moment, and to forget about royalty or politics or television shows for a little while.

* * *

It was only when Mary was back outside, standing on the Cathedral stairs while Greer and her husband posed for a few photographs with the children, that she fully became aware of her surroundings again.

She looked around at the other guests, including her mother, who was in conversation with Lola, and James, who was posing for photographs with members of the public who had showed up outside the Cathedral. A few of the castle's guards stood close to James as he interacted with the people in the crowd.

Mary hung back, making sure to stay away from the crowds. She was not sure how she would be treated by the public, now that a few rumours were probably going around that she had worn a rebel symbol during her most recent interview, and she wasn't eager to find out if they would be friendly to her or not.

As she posed for a photograph with the bride and groom, Mary noticed that Kenna and Lola were now giggling and whispering together. Mary let out a resigned sigh. Of course the two of them would get along.

Suddenly, Mary blinked a few times in shock when she saw Bash, standing a few feet away from her, in conversation with a few other members of staff. She hadn't expeted to see him here-as far as she'd known, Bash had not been invited by James to attend the wedding.

Suddenly, Kenna walked past her, the skirts of her designer gown flowing behind her as she waved and smiled at a few people in the crowd a few feet away.

"What's Sebastian doing here?" Mary couldn't help asking her, keeping her voice low.

"Oh, didn't you hear?" said Kenna as a not-so-innocent grin crept to her face. "James put _me_ in charge of the staff invites for the wedding, and I decided that after all the good work Bash has been doing at the castle, he would be an _invaluable_ assistant to the royal family today!"

"Really?" Mary asked Kenna, unable to keep the tone of suspicion out of her voice as she folded her arms and glared at Kenna. "That's the _only_ reason you invited him?"

Kenna simply raised an eyebrow and then shrugged at her in response, looking like she was trying not to laugh.

Mary didn't have time to ask Kenna anything else, because the wedding photographers had finally finished taking their photos, and they were all ushered back to their cars so that they could travel to the wedding reception.

* * *

The venue where the wedding reception was taking place was just as beautiful as the cathedral, with its ballroom style main room, high ceilings, chandeliers and polished wooden floors, and of course the formally decorated tables.

Mary sat at the head table with the bride, groom and best man, while James, Kenna and Mary's parents were seated at a round table close by, and Bash and Lola sat at another table just behind them with a few of the guards. Every now and again, Kenna turned around in her seat so that she could talk to Lola.

Mary blinked back tears as all the emotional speeches were given, with all of the speakers talking about how Greer and Aloysius first met, and how their relationship had developed, and then she shared a few laughs with Greer about their school days while they all ate the delicious food. For a little while, Mary could almost imagine that she and Greer were back at school together, back before people like Bash, and Kenna, and Lola, and Narcisse had become a significant part of her life-things had been simpler back then, although Mary hadn't realised it at the time.

As she finished her dessert, Mary couldn't help letting out a sad sigh, as she couldn't help thinking about Francis again, and how he had gone back to France, and how she wasn't sure if he would return to Scotland, after everything that had happened. She knew that she shouldn't care so much, but she really did.

Greer caught her eye, a look of concern in her expression, as though she could sense that Mary was upset about something. Quickly, Mary smiled back at her friend-she didn't want anything to spoil Greer's day.

Soon, all the guests had finished eating, and the tables were cleared, and the evening guests started to arrive.

As the lights dimmed, Greer and Aloysius walked hand-in-hand to the middle of the dance floor so that they could share their first dance as a married couple.

The moment was made even more adorable when the children ran into the middle of the dance floor, joining in with the dance.

As Mary watched the happy family dancing together, again her thoughts drifted to Francis. She wondered if he would have asked her to dance, if he had been at the ceremony today.

As a few other couples joined the newlyweds on the dance floor, Mary stood back and observed as her parents danced together, still looking deeply in love with one another in spite of all their years together and all the trials and tribulations that came with ruling a country. Sometimes, in the midst of all the problems that they had to face on a daily basis, Mary forgot just how strong the bond between her parents was.

James and Kenna also danced together, although they didn't seem to be as connected as Mary and James's parents were. Kenna didn't seem to care though-she simply smiled as she took in the admiring (and perhaps also a little envious) glances of other young women in the room.

Finally, the music became more upbeat, and larger groups of guests started to head towards the dance floor. Mary's brother walked towards her and held a hand out to her, inviting her to dance, and the two of them headed towards the dance floor. Mary couldn't help smiling as she danced with James, while Lola and Kenna danced close by. As the music played, it was almost like the two of them were children again, dancing around the castle without a care in the world. It was so rare to see James looking so happy and so carefree.

Of course, the moment couldn't last. Soon, James was asked to dance by other women in the room, all of them no doubt keen to say that they had danced with a future king. With an apologetic-looking shrug, James went off to do his duty.

For a little while, Mary went to dance with Bash, who seemed to be just as surprised as she was by his last-minute invitation to the wedding. Mary simply smiled along with him, trying to ignore the fact that Kenna seemed to be watching the two of them out of the corner of her eye.

Like James, Bash also seemed to have a group of women who were waiting to dance with him, and so Mary stepped aside and eventually ended up dancing with Lola and Kenna. They were soon joined by Greer, who seemed happy to join a group of girls and indulge in a few less-than-elegant dance moves.

Mary realised how rare an event this was, to be dancing with a group of girls at a party, almost like they were all friends who had known each other for years. Kenna in particular looked thrilled by it all, and Mary couldn't help but wonder if Kenna had many female friends to go to parties with. She also wondered what it would be like to do things like this all the time-to go to parties with Lola and Kenna and Greer; for all of them to just be normal young girls sometimes.

Mary was just getting into the moment, laughing with the others as she started to dance like nobody was watching, when Lola suddenly froze in the middle of the dance floor, her eyes wide as she looked in the direction of the main doors.

"Narcisse!" she called out, not bothering to keep her voice down, her tone a mixture of surprise and happiness.

Quickly, Mary turned to look in the direction of the room's entrance. Sure enough, Narcisse was standing right in the doorway with a smirk on his face, looking like he belonged there.

Mary's eyes widened in shock. How was this possible? Why was he here, at the wedding, when he had been suspended from work?

She was just about to say something when Lola smiled and started running across the room towards him, abandoning all protocol while most of the wedding guests stared at her. "Narcisse!" she called out again as she threw her arms around his shoulders and pulled him in for a hug, apparently thrilled to see him.

A few murmurs of disapproval about Lola's behaviour started to echo around the room, but Lola and Narcisse didn't seem to care. If anything, Narcisse seemed to be enjoying the fact that he had made such a notable entrance.

Feeling very confused, and overcome with curiosity as to why Narcisse had just walked through the door, Mary walked towards him, her steps a little slower and more dignified as Kenna fell into step behind her.

"What are you _doing_ here?" Mary heard Lola ask Narcisse as she approached.

"Well," said Narcisse, with a would-be-casual shrug, "it turns out that my presence was required by the royal family after all." He smirked before he continued: "I received a call earlier this afternoon to offer me my job back, with a suggestion that I could perhaps make myself useful as an evening guest at the wedding, in my role as Publicist, of course-if the princess will have me back as her employee, that is..." he added hurriedly with a glance at Mary, as though only just remembering that Mary would have some say in all this.

Mary had no choice but to nod along in agreement-Lola was looking at her as though her future happiness depended upon Mary's decision.

Going by the way that Lola had her arm draped over Narcisse's shoulder, and the way he was holding her in return, in was obvious now that something was going on between the two of them-perhaps they had already shared a few secret kisses in hidden parts of the castle.

All this time, Mary had worried that Lola had a crush on Francis, when really, it was apparently Narcisse who she had feelings for.

After the others had looked away from her, Mary continued to stare at Narcisse, still feeling shocked. She wasn't exactly sure how this had happened. Her parents hadn't said anything about reinstating Narcisse and inviting him to the wedding-it didn't seem like something her parents would have encouraged, especially after all the recent controversy that they believed Narcisse had caused. She also highly doubted that James would have gone behind their backs to make a decision like this.

A thought suddenly occured to her: "Did _you_ have any part to play in this?" she asked Kenna in a whisper as she glared at her suspiciously.

Kenna had been put in charge of most of the wedding invites for the castle's staff, after all. She had already been sneaky in asking Bash, and if Lola had confided in Kenna that she had feelings for Narcisse, well, Mary wouldn't put it past Kenna to pull a few strings to help her new friend out.

However, Kenna shrugged and shook her head in response. Mary could tell from the expression on her face that Kenna had had nothing to do with this-she seemed just as surprised as Mary and Lola were.

"Narcisse! Dance with me!" Lola inisted with a grin before Mary could ask him anything. Lola grabbed hold of his hand and started to tug him towards the dance floor, and Narcisse went willingly.

Mary watched them go. She wasn't sure how she felt about Narcisse's return. On the one hand, she was glad at the prospect of putting an end to some of her recent conflict with her family now that they had apparently allowed her old Publicist to return, but on the other hand, she still wasn't sure if she trusted Narcisse. Something about him made her feel a little wary, and a part of her worried that Francis was right about him. She couldn't help thinking about Catherine's words to her son: _"Narcisse must_ really _despise her..."_ Was Narcisse really working for her, or against her? Mary still wasn't sure.

In the moments that Mary had stood still and watched Lola and Narcisse, lost in thought, Kenna had run over towards Bash. Mary watched in surprise as she eagerly asked him to dance, and Bash nodded.

She was distracted when James appeared at her side. "Let's go and get a drink," he mumbled to her. He sounded relaxed, casual almost, but Mary could tell from the serious, uneasy expression on his face that her older brother had something he wanted to tell her.

Mary fell into step next to him, trying to appear just as casual as James requested glasses of water for the two of them, before they moved away from the crowd.

They found a table in the far corner of the room, as far away as possible from potential eavesdroppers.

James seemed to fidget in his seat, apparently reluctant to start this conversation.

"You're not going to tell me it was _you_ who gave Narcisse his job back, are you? Mary asked him with a raised eyebrow, pretending to watch him suspiciously.

James shook his head, managing a grin of his own. "No," he told her. "You might be surprised to hear this, but the Scottish royal family played no part in this. It seems it was the French royal family who were responsible for his return."

Mary almost knocked over her drink in her shock. "But...why would they do that?" she asked James with a frown. "They despise Narcisse-his sacking would have played right into their hands."

"That may be the case," James shrugged, "but it seems that one member of the family in particular insisted that the show might be in jeopardy if you no longer had your Publicist by your side." He raised his eyebrows significantly at Mary before he continued in a whisper. "Apparently, there were fears you would drop out of the show completely if Narcisse was no longer there to help you. And, well, the other French royals wouldn't risk it-they won't be humiliated on television, not now that they're so far into this. And so the call came into our offices from France this morning, 'advising' us to 'reconsider' his suspension from work. Mother was too worried about a diplomatic incident to say no to them..."

Mary felt like her head was spinning with all this new information. There were so many questions she wanted to ask her brother, but before she could put anything into words, a group of Scottish politicians approached the table, inviting James to come and "talk business" with them. James gave Mary an apologetic look before he left the table.

Mary was left alone, lost in her thoughts. Why had the French royal family insisted on giving Narcisse his job back?

A few of James's words played over in her head: "... _it seems that one member of the family in particular_..."

Had _Francis_ been behind Narcisse's return? Was it even possible? Why would he do that?

Another thought occured to her, one that seemed even more impossible: Was this some kind of peace offering on Francis's part? Was he trying to make amends? Or was this simply wishful thinking on her part?

Unsure what to think, Mary watched the guests who were dancing. Lola and Narcisse were slow-dancing together, in spite of the fast music, their arms wrapped around one another, looking like they were lost in their own little world.

Greer and Aloysius were also dancing together, huge smiles on their faces as the children danced close by.

Bash and Kenna were still dancing together, to Mary's surprise. The two of them laughed at each other as they induldged in a few comedy dance moves that Mary had always imagined Kenna would think of as being beneath her.

Mary was used to Bash's constant smirks, but something about the smile on his face as he danced with Kenna seemed so much more...genuine. His laughter seemed real, this time. It was obvious that he was really enjoying himself. And Kenna, who Mary had always thought was a little stuck up, seemed to be having no trouble letting her hair down at the moment.

Then there was James, who continued to walk around the room, sharing formal conversations with millionaires and politicians, looking every inch the future king and apparently oblivious to the fact that his future wife was dancing close to Bash, only a few feet away from him.

They all seemed so...comfortable. Like they all knew who they were and what they were supposed to be doing.

More than ever, Mary felt like an outsider, watching them all from a great distance. She felt like an outsider even in her own country, alone and observing everybody else as though from afar.

The room felt too hot, too enclosed. The table in the far corner in the room wasn't far away enough. She needed some fresh air; she had to move; she needed to get out, if only for a little while.

* * *

Trying to be as discreet as possible, Mary got up from her seat and slipped out of the room through a side door.

She walked aimlessly through the corridors of the building for a little while, darting around a few corners to hide whenever she heard the sound of footsteps, before heading outside through one of the exit doors.

The night air felt cold and sharp when she stepped outside, and Mary couldn't help shivering.

At the sound of more footsteps, Mary hurriedly closed the exit door and ran further down a narrow alleyway that seemed to be located around the back of the building.

Feeling a little out of breath, she leaned back against the nearest wall, looking up at the sky as she tried to calm her thoughts and control her breathing.

"Mary?"

At the sound of the voice, Mary turned her head to look towards the door.

Bash had just stepped outside, a look of concern on his face.

Mary almost wasn't surprised that he had followed her-he must have seen her slip out of the room, somehow; he must have been curious about where she was going.

 _We are so alike, in some ways..._ Mary thought to herself as she watched Bash approach her. _We both know how to sneak around and keep secrets._

"Mary?" Bash repeated as he got closer to her.

Mary realised that she still hadn't offered him any sort of response, and he was clearly worried about her.

"Are you all right?" Bash asked her, as he took another step closer to her.

Mary took another step closer to him, allowed him to place a hand on her arm.

She could kiss him. Take that last step and close the gap between them. Do something to shock everybody; to get back at them all for the situation they had placed her in; to let them know that she was more than the person they expected her to be; to show them all that she would not just blindly follow royal orders-her parents, her brother, the camera crew, her Publicity Team; to let Francis know that she wasn't falling apart, just because he had left...

It would be so easy. Bash was handome-all the other girls thought so, and even Kenna seemed to be taken with him. And Lola had already told her that Bash had feelings for her. He would have been just her type, back at school, when she was a little younger. He would kiss her back. Perhaps it would help to ease some of the hurt and the confusion that she had felt over the past couple of weeks...

As though coming out of a daze, Mary suddenly took a step back. No. She couldn't do it. It wouldn't be right. Greer's words about teenage crushes and Lola's warning about not toying with Bash's feelings seemed more significant now, in this moment. It would not be fair to start something with Bash when her mind was so full of thoughts about _Francis_. She wasn't even sure how exactly she felt about him yet, and she was still so angry with him after their argument, but still, he seemed to have played a starring role in her thoughts and her dreams ever since he had re-entered her life.

She knew that she had to work out her feelings for Francis before she allowed anyone else to interfere with this royal matchmaking process.

"I'm fine," Mary insisted as she looked Bash in the eye and tried to look calm and composed. "I just needed a little fresh air, that's all."

Bash nodded, and a more guarded expression slowly appeared on his face, too.

From the day she'd met him, a part of Mary had hoped, rather than truly believed, that being with somebody like Bash would be easy, straightforward-a lot less complicated than dating a prince. But deep down, Mary knew that this wasn't the case-she thought about how Bash had mysteriously appeared in her local village, and at the castle, at the ideal time-just when the matchmaking show was getting started. She thought about how skilled he was at sneaking around, staying hidden, climbing castle walls and attending secret meetings. She thought about how he'd recognised the rebel symbol that she'd worn right away-how he'd looked so worried about the repercussions of her actions.

Bash had something to hide; he had secrets of his own. Mary wasn't yet sure what they were exactly, but she had to admit, if only to herself, that kissing Bash would bring about just as many complications as kissing Francis would. _Every_ man would bring complications to her life, and she would bring them to theirs. Perhaps it was simply a matter of deciding who would be worth overcoming the complications for.

She had just reassured Bash yet again that she was fine when the exit door suddenly burst open. Kenna stepped outside, her movements almost giddy-looking as a smile crept to her face.

"Bash? Will you not dance with me again?" she asked, apparently not noticing just yet that Mary was also standing outside with Bash.

Kenna's words reminded Mary of Olivia, standing on the grand staircase inside the French castle two years ago as she spoke to Francis.

Mary felt a familiar rush of irritation, only this time, it was not directed at Kenna.

She was jealous of Olivia. She just hadn't realised it, until now; she hadn't understood why it always upset her so much whenever Francis mentioned her name.

But then, if she was jealous of Olivia, did that mean that _she_ wanted to be Francis's girlfriend? Mary frowned and shook her head. Everything was so confusing. If only she had thought about all this before Francis returned to France.

It didn't take long before Kenna realised that Mary was also outside, still standing quite close to Bash. Her smile seemed to freeze on her face; she stopped in the doorway and looked from one to the other, her expression almost suspicious, and maybe even a little hurt.

"Oh," Kenna mumbled, as she aimed a glare in Mary's direction, "it's you."

Bash looked at Mary almost questioningly, as though checking that she was definitely okay, and silently asking her permission to go and rejoin the party.

"Go and dance," Mary told him, attempting to smile and look relaxed. "I'm fine. I'll be back inside in a minute."

With a final reassuring pat on her shoulder, Bash walked back through the exit door.

Kenna, however, did not move. She continued to stand in the doorway with her arms folded.

"You are on a matchmaking show with the future king of France," she muttered, her tone of voice surprisingly firm. Clearly she wasn't happy about the fact that Mary had been hanging around with Bash outside, away from the party.

"And you are engaged to the future king of Scotland!" Mary snapped back at her. She would not take this from Kenna, not when Kenna had no right whatsoever to be posessive over Bash.

"You will fit right in with the French royal family," Kenna told her, cryptically, with a raised eyebrow, before she turned around and headed back inside, slamming the door behind her.

Mary glared at the closed door for a few seconds before she let out a sigh of frustration. Then, she turned and started to head in the opposite direction, deciding that she would take a quick walk on her own before she went back inside.

She had only taken a few steps when somebody jumped out in front of her in the darkness, blocking her path.

Letting out a gasp of fright, Mary quickly turned around, as though to run away in the opposite direction, but the person was too quick for her. They moved to stand in front of her, and then a fist slammed into the wall only inches from her face.

The figure was tall, menacing, dressed all in black, and they seemed to be wearing some sort of balaclava, as Mary couldn't make out their face.

Mary remained rooted to the spot, frozen in her terror, barely able to catch her breath, let alone let out a scream. There were no guards around, no one she could call out to...

"You are being watched," the person muttered slowly in a deep voice, their words no less threatening than if they'd been spoken as a loud shout or an angry cry. "Be _very_ careful about your next move..."

With that, the figure quickly moved away from her and vanished into the night.

* * *

Francis Valois paced up and down the ramparts of the Scottish castle, his phone held to his ear.

His mother spoke to him on the phone, updating him on everything that had gone on in the French castle in the hours since he had left and returned to Scotland. Francis replied to her politely in a mix of French and Italian-a precaution in case anybody was eavesdropping-but really, he was only half-listening to what she was saying.

He felt a little guilty for not paying much attention to the conversation, especially in light of recent circumstances. Nobody in the Scottish castle knew it yet, but Francis had been called back home to France because his father's health had deteriorated in recent weeks. There had been genuine fears among the French royals that he wouldn't make it through.

Francis stopped his pacing for a moment as he took a few deep breaths. His father might have recovered, this time, but still, Francis couldn't help feeling uneasy when he thought about how close he had come to being declared the King of France almost overnight.

Everything else seemed to have fallen apart over the past few weeks, and he and Mary had barely spoken recently, and to add to all the chaos and confusion, he had almost faced the loss of a parent, along with a new role that he still felt nowhere near prepared for.

He had avoided being declared king, for now, but he had a feeling that it was only a matter of time before his life would change.

Francis let out a sigh as he stared out at the horizon. He wondered if Mary had returned from the wedding in Edinburgh yet.

In other circumstances, he would have stayed home in France for a little while longer, just to make sure that everything was definitely okay, but he had returned for her, and in the hope that maybe there was some chance he could make up for all of their recent disagreements.

In spite of everything, he wanted to try to work things out between the two of them. He just wasn't sure how exactly to go about it. He had always felt so clueless whenever he was around her. He could only hope that his most recent decision had been a step in the right direction and not a huge mistake...

He had asked Narcisse to return to his role as Mary's Publicist against his better judgement. His opinion of him hadn't changed, and he would continue to mistrust him, but he had sent Narcisse to Edinburgh as a peace offering, in the hope that the gesture might help a little to smooth things over between the two of them.

Already, he had seen how Mary was starting to rely on Narcisse, and how she really believed that he was helping her to get through the television show. He'd also had a feeling that their recent argument would never be resolved if Mary believed that Francis had in any way played a part in the dismissal of a member of staff she considered to be _her_ employee. She would no doubt worry that this would set a precedent for any future they had together. He could tell that she would never have chosen to date a prince if the decision had been left to her, and a prince who attempted to influence her decisions would definitely be dismissed from the matchmaking process.

As much as the idea filled him with dread, he knew that he would have to trust Mary to make her own decisions about Narcisse. If not, Narcisse would continue to get between them.

Francis's mother continued to talk to him on the phone, but Francis was barely listening. He was too lost in his own worries.

Recent events had served as a painful reminder to him that he would have to be more honest with Mary about the situation in France-namely the reality of the role as queen that awaited her if she chose to continue with the matchmaking process.

Already, Mary had no doubt seen for herself over the past few days that Francis's royal duties often got in the way of other things. He had not been able to attend the wedding of one of Mary's closest friends, and things like this would happen over and over again in the future, even if they were married. He would not always be able to be by her side, in the way that other men would be able to be. Mary herself would have to miss out on important events sometimes, when duty required it, if she chose to take on the role as queen. Would she ever accept that kind of lifestyle?

Then there were all the other things he would have to be honest about-perhaps most importantly, the reason why Francis's father had put him forward for the matchmaking show in the first place. Francis couldn't help feeling that now-familiar feeling of dread when he thought about all the secrets his father knew about the Scottish royals-all the potential the French royal family held for blackmail and manipulation. They were the main reasons why Francis had been so reluctant to participate in the show in the first place; why a part of him wanted to run, to do whatever he could to protect Mary.

He was also certain that it was only a matter of time before she asked him directly about his history with Narcisse, and he would have to tell her.

There were so many secrets he didn't want to share, but, if he continued to push her away, if he told the French royals he wouldn't be a part of this process, he would lose her. There would be others waiting to date her, if and when the matchmaking process fell apart. He had already seen for himself how Sebastian felt about her, and recently, he'd also heard rumours that other men-royals and politicians and celebrities-had taken an interest in Mary since she'd stared to appear on television every week.

As though she could read his thoughts, Francis's mother suddenly muttered over the phone, "You know that Conde's been sniffing around in France, trying to find out how well the show's _really_ playing out. It seems he's taken an interest in meeting Mary..."

Again, Francis sighed. There were so many obstacles and people working against them, so many ways they could be driven apart...

Suddenly, he was distracted by the sight of Mary, who seemed to appear almost out of nowhere on the castle roof.

Her movements looked frantic, and she seemed to be struggling to catch her breath as she ran.

Apparently oblivious to his presence on the roof, she stopped and leaned against one of the stone walls that overlooked the gardens, and then, to Francis's surprise, she burst into tears. He could hear her sobbing from where he was standing only a few feet away.

"I have to go," he muttered quickly to his mother, hanging up his phone before he could even think about what he was going to do next.

Automatically, he started to move towards her, feeling overwhelmed with worry, all of his own misgivings about the matchmaking process suddenly forgotten in light of Mary's distress. He didn't know what was wrong, or if anything bad had happened, but he wanted to do anything he could to help.

He couldn't help it-no matter what, he would always run to her; he would do anything to help her-and that was the very reason why his father had attempted to take control of this process in the first place...


	11. Chapter 11

The morning after Greer's wedding, Mary practically ran through the corridors of the Scottish castle, taking short, sharp breaths as she turned corner after corner and slammed doors behind her.

She could barely think right now, and she was sure her hands were shaking (out of fear or anger, she wasn't exactly sure), but still a part of her was strangely focused; right now, she only had one objective in mind, and she knew exactly where she needed to go to ensure her plan was enforced. All other rational thought had been abandoned in light of recent cirumstances-it was as though her mind wouldn't allow her to concentrate on anything else, apart from her one goal to put all of this chaos and confusion to an end.

She knew that she couldn't stop, couldn't allow herself to get distracted; if she did, then the images of a menacing figure wearing a balaclava would appear in her mind again, and she would see them jumping out at her in the darkness; she would hear that cold voice, warning her...

Shaking her head as though to clear it of these dark thoughts, Mary kept moving.

Finally, she arrived at her mother's office. Mary had hoped to speak to her mother after the wedding in Edinburgh, but the guards had informed her that her mother had returned to the castle to prepare for a meeting early in the morning. And so Mary had decided to follow her back here, ordering the castle's staff to prepare a car for her to return to the castle herself.

Abandoning all protocol, Mary grabbed hold of the door handle and pulled it down, hard, forcing the door open.

The door practically fell off its hinges as Mary stormed over the threshold and marched inside, only to be greeted by the bewildered stare of her mother, who was sitting behind her desk, a pile of paperwork stacked in front of her, all-business as usual.

With a disapproving glance at her daughter, Mary's mother opened her mouth, no doubt to tell her off for not knocking before entering the room, but Mary was too quick for her...

"Call off this matchmaking process!" Mary demanded of her mother, her voice somehow sounding both shaky and furious at the same time.

"Excuse me?" the queen asked her, folding her arms and raising her eyebrows, an expression of disbelief on her face. It seemed that she was more distressed by the interruption than Mary's obvious state of distress.

"You must end this show, now!" Mary continued to insist.

She knew that she wasn't thinking or acting rationally right now, but she didn't care. Last night's threat had completely unnerved her. She had been playing the words of the mystery attacker over and over in her mind all night...

 _"You are being watched...be very careful about your next move..."_

She didn't want to be watched, to be seen, to be noticed. She just wanted to hide, to get away from all of this, and the only way to do that was to avoid being seen on every television screen in the country almost every day. This was her only chance at escape.

"Whatever's the matter with you?" the queen asked, a hint of agitation in her voice, apparently not taking Mary's demand to call off the matchmaking process seriously.

"I was threatened," said Mary, reluctantly, as she was finally forced to fully re-live yesterday's events out loud. "Last night, at the wedding..." She had to pause to take a few deep breaths, to try to collect herself. "I went outside, alone, just for a moment, and there was somebody out there-"

"I have told you, over and over, that you are _not_ to wander off on your own without the castle guards!" her mother snapped at her, her face now a reflection of the mingled anger and fear that Mary was sure she was displaying in her own expression.

"That is not the point!" Mary argued back with her, feeling a fresh wave of fury, although she suspected that this probably was at least part of the point. Even now, she was thinking about how reckless she had been, heading outside on her own at night, especially given the fact that she was a member of the royal family, and the fact that they received weekly threats from rebels and anti-royalists.

"The point is," Mary continued, before her mother could take over the argument, "I was told I was being watched; I was told to be careful! It was a warning! You have made us all more visible than necessary with the television show, and now those who despise us are fighting back! This show is not bringing any peace to Scotland! You are bringing more threats to our doorstep! More rebels, more spies..."

Mary knew that she probably sounded paranoid, but she really felt deep down that all of this was true-right from the first day of the matchmaking show she'd had a strange feeling that she was being watched, and the words from the person who had vanished into the night yesterday had only confirmed this to her. "I've suspected for weeks that we were being watched. All over the castle I hear whispers, and footsteps, as though people are here, hiding, spying on us..."

"Nonsense!" her mother retorted, making Mary feel even more as though all of these threats were merely a figment of her imagination. "You are tired, and you have been under a lot of pressure recently. You are simply seeing things that are not really there..."

"You are not listening to me!" Mary screamed. "You _never_ listen to me!"

And then, in her anger, Mary picked up a few of the folders from her mother's desk and threw them across the room with another scream of anger. She knew she looked like a spoilt child having a tantrum, but she couldn't control herself right now-she was so scared, and angry, and ashamed, and nobody was listening; nobody was taking her seriously.

"All you care about is your throne!"

She kicked a few of the folders and piles of paperwork that had fallen to the floor in her outburst. She wanted to continue to yell and scream and destroy things. She wanted to let out all her anger-anger at her mother, her father, her brother, the royal family, Francis's parents, the matchmaking show, the situations she had been placed in, the way her mother never seemed to care.

To her surprise, her mother did not get angry in return, or shout at her. She simply sat back in her seat, watching Mary with a contemplative expression on her face.

"Call off the show!" Mary repeated, almost wanting, or needing, a stronger reaction from her mother in light of everything she was saying. It would be easier, in a way, if her mother would get angry in return, if she would fight back. "None of this would have happened if my face hadn't started to appear on every television screen in Scotland and all over the magazines! You are making all of us a target for rebels!"

"Mary," her mother said with a sigh, apparently choosing to ignore Mary's demands, "I'm going to need you to continue with the matchmaking show." There was almost a look of resignation on the queen's face, which only caused Mary's anger to increase.

She struggled not to let out another cry of anger or to ask her mother why she wasn't paying attention to her.

" _Why_?" she demanded instead with a frown. She resisted the urge to start screaming again at the idea that her mother was closing off yet another escape route.

She still felt furious, but now she couldn't help feeling like something was not quite right-there was something suspicious about the look her mother was giving her. " _Why_ is it so important to you that I remain on the show? Is a reality television show _truly_ more important to you than your daughter's safety?"

Her mother remained silent for what felt like too long before she spoke.

Finally, with another sigh, she said, "I'm sick again, Mary."

Mary felt like she had frozen to the spot. She stood still, shocked, staring at her mother, trying to work out what she was actually telling her. She had not anticipated a response like that.

"W-what do you mean?" she asked, a strange sense of forboding already starting to overtake her.

"It is the same as last time, Mary," her mother told her, her voice sounding surprisingly level. "The same sickness, the same threat..."

"B-but, the doctors will cure you, just like last time. We are royalty-we have some of the best doctors in the world-"

She knew how awful this would sound, how selfish, but in the moment, it didn't matter. For as much as she had despised certain aspects of life as a royal, she had always assumed that one of the privileges of the role involved access to the best doctors and healthcare in the country. They had cured her mother last time, back when Mary had only been a child...

"We may be royal, but we are human first," said the queen. "Money cannot buy everything, or solve every problem. Besides, it is worse than last time-I cannot be certain that there will be a cure this time."

"No," Mary whispered, as though this statement would make her mother's illness go away.

This could not be happening. She could not be facing the possibility of losing her mother. Their relationship had been so strained for so long, but still, this news was no less devastating.

"If anything should happen to me in the near future-"

"No!" Mary insisted this time, even louder. All she was short of doing was placing her hands over her ears like a child and shaking her head in an attempt to block out the words.

Her mother ignored her. "If anything should happen," she repeated, "your brother will be King of Scotland. He will marry Kenna, and the two of them will rule the country, along with any children they may have. Your father will most likely be appointed as James's chief advisor. Already, I have started to hand over a lot of my duties to them; your brother and father have headed to London this morning to attend a meeting on my behalf. I am sure that your brother will not throw you out of the castle, but your place here, your role, will be a lot less certain after James becomes king."

"No," Mary continued to repeat, pathetically. This could not be happnening. Not now. She had always thought that she would have _years_ before she had to consider any of this. And now, it seemed like everything was changing, almost overnight. She was going to be left all alone, with only James and Kenna and her father for company, all of whom would have roles and priorities of their own...

She sank down into the nearest chair, feeling like she no longer had the strength to stand.

Her mother continued to stare at her in silence for a couple of minutes, as though contemplating her next words.

Mary could barely look her in the eye.

Finally, she continued, "A marriage to Francis and an alliance with France would give you other options and make your position as a royal much more secure-"

"Francis and I cannot have a conversation without arguing!" Mary cut her off with a glare. "We are barely even friends! I don't know for sure if he will ever return from France. I will _not_ marry someone simply for an alliance-"

"You _must_ try harder with Francis," her mother interrupted her, a note of desperation in her own voice now. "Life will not be easy in Scotland, with France as an enemy..."

"You only care about making Scotland's position more secure!" Mary was unable to resist snapping at her.

"Mary," her mother sighed, looking more weary than ever, "now is not the time for arguments..."

"I could leave," Mary muttered, not really sure if she was offering a threat, or a warning, or a suggestion. All she knew was that her mother was trying to force her into this 'alliance' out of fear, and desperation; she was not even considering the fact that life in Scotland would not be easy anyway-not with rebels watching their every move and trying to bring the royal family down. James would only inherit the same problem, regardless of any of Mary's decisions.

"I could run away from the castle with Sebastian," she whispered, as a tear started to fall slowly down her cheek. She didn't bother to try to wipe it away, and her mother didn't comment on it-she was too busy frowning at Mary's words. "I could start a new life, somewhere else in Scotland; somewhere far away from here..."

It was tempting, oh so tempting. The thought of just running away from all of her problems. Especially when she had had no contact with Francis for days. Bash would would run away with her, she was sure of it. But then, she had once been so sure that her brother would run away from the castle with her, and he had proved her wrong, again and again.

Her mother continued to watch her, looking lost in thought. When she spoke again, her words surprised Mary: "I'm going to make a deal with you," she said.

Mary frowned at her, feeling confused. She didn't understand how her mother could still treat all of this like some kind of political negotiation, in light of what she had just revealed. Was her mother not afraid? Was being a queen really more important to her than being human?

"If," her mother went on, without waiting for Mary to speak, "at the end of this three month process, you decide that a relationship with Francis will not work out, then I will allow you to leave the show..."

Mary stared at her in disbelief.

"You can choose to date others, or remain single, or even run off with that boy from the stables, if that's what you want..."

As her mother rolled her eyes at her own words, Mary struggled to keep her expression neutral, so as not to unintentionally give anything away.

"What is the catch?" Mary asked, suspiciously, after a few moments of silence. This 'deal' of her mother's seemed far too good to be true.

"You must promise me that if and when he returns here from France, you will truly give Francis Valois a chance; I want you to give him _serious_ consideration as a potential husband. This is not about Scotland's security, I'm thinking about _your_ security after I am gone."

Mary opened her mouth to say something, but the queen held up her hand to stop her.

"And by 'taking this process seriously'," she told Mary, her tone firm, "I don't just mean performing well in front of the cameras as part of the show. I'm talking about you spending time with Francis, away from the cameras; getting to know him as a person. The two of you are to go out on dates, talk, find out if you are compatible. Try to _talk_ , instead of argue. This deal would also involve you spending time with Francis and his family in France. You need to have a good idea as to whether you could take on royal duties in France, should the two of you decide to marry. And if, after all that, you still wish to withdraw from the matchmaking process, then I will allow it. I will also ensure that your father and brother allow it...if circumstances are different, in a few months' time-but only if we are all certain that you have tried your best."

Mary took a sharp breath, not wanting to think about how 'circumstances' could be different in a few months' time. She thought about the deal that her mother was offering. She hadn't asked for any of this; she hadn't wanted any of these awful things to happen, but perhaps this was the best offer she was going to receive. Now, there was finally a way out, if she chose to take it.

"I accept your deal," Mary informed her mother with a curt nod. She tried her best to hold herself together, as though her world wasn't currently falling apart.

"You're really going to make an effort with Francis?" her mother asked with a raised eyebrow, her tone doubtful. "You're going to do your duty and fully participate in the show?"

Mary nodded.

"Good. Then I must prepare for a meeting this afternoon," said the queen.

Taking this as a hint that she was being dismissed, Mary got up from her chair. Her legs felt like lead.

"Oh, and Mary?" her mother called out to her, just before Mary reached the door, as though she had just remembered something.

Slowly, Mary turned back around to face her, just in time to see her mother place a piece of paper on the desk. It was clearly a newspaper article that had been printed out.

Mary moved closer to look at it.

 _The Rebel Princess?_ the headline read.

Underneath the headline was a long, detailed article, as well as several pictures, all of them of Mary.

There was a picture of Mary walking through the local village, the hood of her coat only partially covering her face. Her expression looked secretive, like she had something to hide. It was clear that she wasn't supposed to be there.

There was another picture of Mary at the local pub, the evening she had gone there with Bash.

There were a couple of pictures of Mary standing in the background looking bored as her mother and brother took on royal duties, then there was the infamous picture of Mary during her most recent interview, with the bird-in-flight pin pinned to her shirt.

All of these moments that Mary had always assumed had been private ones, and all this time, there had been someone there, spying on her, taking pictures, twisting all of these words and images in an attempt to discredit her, to put the theory out there that she was somehow working in support of the Scottish rebels. There _were_ people watching her after all. Mary felt a prickle of fear just at the thought of it.

Apparently, her mother was worried about the article for entirely different reasons: "All of this," she said, her tone of voice warning as she pointed at the article, "is _not_ the behaviour of a potential future queen. Rebels don't make good royals, Mary..."

Mary continued to stare at the pictures, still feeling ashamed. Her _mother_ knew that she had been sneaking out, visiting the local village and the pub. How long had she known? Had she known about Mary's secret visit to the castle in France, on that awful night? Why wasn't she furious about it all?

"There may come a time when you really do hope to marry the future king of France, and there may be a few decisions that you regret. You should take more care with your words and actions if you're planning on an official visit to France soon. I might have allowed your Publicist to return, but I will not tolerate any more articles like this one-and believe me, the king and queen of France are less tolerant than I am."

Mary could do nothing more than nod, trying not to feel overwhelmed by yet another threat of danger, of yet another breach of her privacy.

Finally, she turned around and left her mother's office.

Just before she left, she was sure she heard her mother mutter something that sounded like, "You and I, we are so alike."

* * *

Mary walked slowly away from the office, as though in a daze. She felt almost as though she were back on stage on the first episode of the matchmaking show, when she'd first caught sight of Francis-it was like everything around her was happening in slow motion, and all the typical sounds of the castle were muffled. She even felt a little dizzy, and like she was struggling to think clearly. She felt detached from her own body.

All these weeks, all these months, her mother had been sick, and she hadn't realised. Once or twice she'd thought she seemed a little tired, a little under the weather, but then she'd dismissed those thoughts. Had she really been so lost in her own world and her own worries that she hadn't seen the signs?

Her feet seemed to be carrying her forward, although Mary couldn't think properly about where she was going.

Eventually, she arrived at the foot of a steep spiral staircase that she knew led up to the castle roof.

The roof had always been a place of refuge for Mary over the years, ever since childhood-a place where she could take in the view, get some fresh air, clear her thoughts.

Yet today, she was certain that the rooftop location would provide no comfort to her. It would simply be a place to hide away, if only for a little while; a place of escape.

It was only as she started to climb the stairs that the full weight of everything her mother had just told her finally started to push down on her. Her mother was sick. She didn't know how long her mother had left to live. James could soon be king. Kenna would be his wife. Her father would be James's advisor. James and Kenna would have children-a family and priorities of their own. Mary would be all alone.

For all of their conflict and disagreements over the years, Mary couldn't imagine what life would be like without her mother there.

As she stepped out onto the castle roof, Mary was vaguely aware of the fact that the weather was still a little misty today, but she barely noticed her surroundings.

Without looking around, she walked quickly towards the castle wall, trying her best to take deep breaths of cold air as she looked down at the gardens.

She noticed Lola and Narcisse, down in the gardens, walking hand-in-hand among the trees in the distance.

She became aware of a low voice coming from the other side of the roof, but she didn't turn around to see who was talking. She assumed that it was probably a guard, on a routine patrol; she wasn't even sure she cared that much.

She looked down at the garden again. To her surprise, she saw Kenna and Bash, standing a few feet away from Lola and Narcisse, apparently playing some sort of game of football together as they kicked a ball from one to the other. Kenna looked a lot more relaxed than usual, dressed casually in trousers and a flowing white shirt, with a flower pinned in her hair. Mary would never have pictured her like this, smiling and carefree, even giggling a little as she passed the ball to Bash with surprising skill, while Bash grinned back at her, his expression softer, kinder than Mary had seen before. Perhaps this was who Kenna really was, when she didn't have to put on a show with James.

Something about seeing the four of them, looking so happy, so close, so sure of who they were and where they were going, made Mary feel even more unsure, even more lost and alone.

Suddenly, the full impact of everything that had happened over the past few weeks, the past few days, the past few hours, finally hit her. She had to lean on the castle wall for support as she began to sob, unable to stop the tears from falling rapidly down her cheeks.

As she cried, she couldn't stop the flashbacks from the night before-the figure appearing out of the darkness, backing her into the wall, telling her that she was being watched.

She really was being watched. Her mother might have said that she was only imagining the whispers and the footsteps in the castle, but the threat last night and all of the pictures in the newspaper article surely proved that somebody was following her, and that she was in danger.

She remembered how afraid she had been last night; how she had been unable to move, to react in her shock. It hit her just how much danger she had been in; how vulnerable she'd been; how much worse things could have been; how it could happen again soon...

Her tears continued to fall. Her hands were shaking. She could barely stand.

She thought again about her mother, about how she was sick again. She remembered how it had been last time, years ago, when her mother had looked so weak, so frail. All of it was going to happen again.

She thought about James, how he wasn't even here. He was away doing his duty, as usual. For so long, it had felt as though the two of them had been drifting apart. And James had been looking so unhappy recently. He must have known about their mother's condition-he had to have known already, if the queen was already starting to hand over her royal duties to him. And he hadn't thought to tell his sister.

She thought about Francis, how he had left, how they had argued so much since the show started.

Her sobs were coming out in loud gasps now. The tears wouldn't stop.

"Mary..."

Mary heard a voice, softly whispering her name. For a moment, she was sure that she had only imagined it, but then she heard it again.

Then, her eyes still filled with tears, she saw a flash of blond, wavy hair...

Mary blinked rapidly, almost unable to believe it.

How could he be here, up on the castle roof? He had gone to France; she had been so sure he wouldn't come back.

"Mary?"

She heard him say her name again, the tone of voice full of concern. No one had spoken to her with that much concern in their voice before, and this idea only made her cry even harder.

"F-Francis?" she managed to gasp between her sobs, still almost unable to believe that he was right here.

"I'm here," he whispered, his words sounding tentative, but still concerned. His voice was so soft, so calming.

He looked right at her; he reached out a hand as though he wanted to comfort her. But still he kept a little distance between them, as though afraid to get too close; like he was afraid that Mary might push him away.

Before she could think about what she was doing, and before she could remember all of their recent arguments and disagreements, Mary took a step towards him, and then he was wrapping his arms around her, holding her almost protectively as she continued to cry.

Mary knew that she must look a mess right now, but she didn't care. She just needed someone to be there for her in this moment of despair.

In spite of the awful circumstances, there was something strangely comforting about being held in Francis's arms. He felt powerful, strong. She felt safe.

Perhaps they had once been affectionate with each other like this, back when they were children; perhaps they really had been as close as her mother always insisted they were, once; perhaps, for all these years, Mary had been missing something that she hadn't even known she had lost.

"You're shaking," Francis muttered. He still sounded scared.

Scared on _her_ behalf, Mary realised, as he continued to hold her close.

Mary could only nod as she held Francis even tighter.

* * *

"Mary, are you sure that you're all right?"

For the past few minutes, Mary had been staring down at the white jumper she was wearing over her clothes, until Francis's question interrupted her thoughts.

 _Francis's jumper..._ she silently reminded herself, as she thought again about how strange that was.

After she had stopped crying, she had been unable to stop herself from trembling.

Francis had insisted that they both go back inside, and so they had taken refuge in a dusty old corner of the library, away from the prying eyes of others in the castle, but not before Francis had gone to find a warm item of clothing for Mary to wear.

And so Mary had ended up putting on the white jumper that Francis had worn when they'd first shared a conversation after the opening ceremony.

She pulled the jumper closer to her body, as though the item of clothing alone could provide her with comfort. There was something oddly soothing about it, even though Mary wasn't sure what it was. She liked that it was a little too big for her, how it seemed to wrap her up like a blanket. She liked the way it smelled, fresh and clean, even though this thought made her want to blush.

Relising that she was still staring down in fascination at the white item of clothing, Mary forced herself to look up at Francis from across the polished wooden table in the library, where they were sitting close to one another.

Closer than they had been for weeks.

"No," Mary told him with a sigh, deciding that she might as well be honest, after the state that Francis had just seen her in. For perhaps the first time ever, Mary realised that she was sick of all the lies; sick of all the covering up and the sneaking around. "But I will be, eventually," she added, trying her best to smile. For the first time in a long time, she could actually allow herself to believe that she might be okay, in the end.

Francis nodded, apparently appreciating her honesty, but there was still a concerned frown on his face. Mary guessed that he didn't really know what to do, what to say-there was still a sort of awkward tension between the two of them, with so much left unsaid.

But still, Mary was grateful that Francis was here, that he was staying by her side, that he actually cared enough to not leave her alone right now. He had even requested that tea be brought to them in the library, ignoring the disgruntled muttering of all the staff at the unusual request. He seemed to think that the hot drink might help Mary to feel a little better.

And so there was now a tray containing a large pot of tea and two cups on the table between them.

Mary was almost tempted to laugh about all this-a part of her wanted to send a message to Greer, to tell her friend that she was currently sitting across a library table, facing the future king of France, wearing his jumper, the two of them drinking tea together, surrounded by the old books that Mary had once searched through to find out the meaning of the bird-in-flight symbol. If this were actually a date, then it would be a pretty strange one. Greer would no doubt find it all hilarious-bizarre, but hilarious.

But then Mary shook her her head, fighting off a sudden urge to blush as she poured tea into her cup to distract herself. This wasn't a date; she and Francis were barely even friends, and nothing about this situation was funny. She knew that later tonight, she would feel mortified, humiliated that Francis (a future _king_ ; the son of her mother's _rivals_ ) had seen her in tears; embarrassed that she had lost control like that.

Perhaps she really had gone into shock, or maybe she was delirious, or hysterical with everything that had happened recently.

Feeling suddenly serious again, Mary decided she should try to make conversation, now that there seemed to be this new-found peace between the two of them:

"I-I wasn't sure that you would come back from France," she whispered, breaking the heavy silence. "After...after everything."

Francis looked surprised at these words. He seemed to be studying her closely, like he was trying to decide how much he should tell her. "My father was very ill," he said eventually, with a pained expression on his face. "I had to return to see him. He has recovered, slightly, enough that I felt comfortable enough to return...I was always planning on returning...but the doctors say it's only a matter of time before-" He went quiet, looking uncomfortable, as though he had given too much away.

"I'm sorry," Mary told him, and she genuinely meant it, although she'd never been much of a fan of the French king.

A part of her was surprised that Francis really had had a genuine reason to return to France-that he hadn't just wanted to run away from her, and another part of her was trying hard not to think about the implications of what Francis had just revealed-if his father really was that sick, then it meant that Francis could be king a lot sooner than Mary had thought.

"My mother is very ill, too," Mary told him. She hadn't planned on telling Francis this, not today, and she knew how risky it would be, to place this information in the hands of a rival country, but she decided that she had to try to trust Francis, if she really was going to continue with this matchmaking process like her mother had asked her to do. Besides, the two of them were equal now, after what Francis had just revealed to her; after he had comforted her like that on the rooftop; after he had trusted _her_ with the information about his father.

And she just needed to tell _someone_ , to ease the burden a little.

Still, it didn't stop her eyes from filling with fresh tears as she said the words out loud.

"Mary, I'm so sorry," said Francis. And he looked it, too.

"That-that was not the only reason I was so...distressed today," Mary told him, hurriedly, before she could talk herself out of it. Still, she had to fight off another blush at the thought that Francis Valois had seen her cry like that. Her hands also started to shake again, and she had to place her cup of tea back down on the table.

She paused and took a few deep breaths while Francis waited patiently for her to speak.

"I...I was threatened, last night, at the wedding," she told him, in barely more than a whisper. "I went outside for just a moment-" Mary trailed off, unable to talk about it anymore, half-afraid that Francis would lecture her about how irresponsible she had been, the way her mother had done.

"Mary, are you all right?" Francis asked her again. The expression of real concern, of genuine fear, was back on his face again.

Suddenly, to Mary's surprise, Francis was out of his chair and kneeling in front of her, the way he had done in the television room after the opening ceremony, when he'd been trying to comfort her and trying to apologise to her for having to participate in the show.

"I will be," she tried to insist, ignoring another tear that travelled slowly down her cheek. As awful as it was to talk about last night, a part of her felt relieved at being able to share this with somebody; with somebody who actually seemed to care about her wellbeing. She almost wished she could thank him, for actually checking that she was okay, rather than treating the threat as a political issue. She was not used to this caring behaviour from members of royal families.

"What would you do?" Mary asked him tentatively, deciding that she really was going to make an effort to work in partnership with Francis now. "If this had happened in France, I mean?"

She noticed the subtle change in Francis's expression, and she knew that she was now seeing Francis-the-future-king, instead of the concerned childhood friend.

"We would increase security, both inside the castle and out," he told her, his voice professional now. "We could provide you with bodyguards from the French castle, if you wish. We would launch and enquiry to catch the culprit, perhaps put a few trusty advisors on the case. But, Mary, I would advise you not to hide away; don't let them think that they've got the better of you... _You_ will win this-not the rebels, not the anti-royalists, not even the snakes who hang around the Scottish and French castles..."

Mary stared at him in surprise. She had half-expected him to say all of those things, but still, in this moment, Francis reminded her a lot more of his mother than his father, who Mary had always assumed he took after. This resemblance would have been amusing too, in other circumstances.

Eventually, she nodded. It was a gesture that she had been taught by other royals-acknowledge that the advice has been heard, without making any promises to follow it.

To add to her surprise, she realised that in spite of his impassioned royal speech, Francis was still kneeling down beside her. He was still worried about her.

Somehow, the two of them had ended up holding hands. Suddenly, Mary had a vague recollection of them being affectionate with each other like this before, back when they were children. Perhaps they had held hands several times in the past, and the hidden memories of those moments had unconsciously brought them back to that gesture.

Mary stared at their joined hands, lost in thought. She knew that in a crisis, Francis was the person to be around. He was brave, selfless. So many times, his hand had reached out to hers, ready to catch her before she fell.

But a relationship involved so much more than fighting together on a battlefield. If she really wanted to see if something could happen between them, then Mary would have to take that step into the unknown; she would have to get to know _Francis-the-boyfriend_ , rather than _Francis-the-king_. She would have to see who he was when he wasn't being a king; who he was after a crisis had passed.

Eventually, she made a decision.

"Perhaps it would be a good idea to get away from here for a little while," she said, slowly. "To get away from Scotland, I mean."

Francis looked up at her, surprise and confusion written all over his face. "What do you mean?" he asked her, gently.

Mary took a few moments to think before she spoke again. She thought about how big a step this would be. But then she thought about the deal she'd just made with her mother, and everything she'd promised her she would do, in order to give the matchmaking process a real chance. She had agreed to all of it, in order to ensure that by the end of the process, the decision could be hers.

"What if we filmed the next episode of the show in France? At the French castle?" she clarified.

Francis looked visibly shocked by this proposal. Mary could tell that he hadn't expected her to ever suggest it.

She almost felt shocked herself. Only a week ago, she would probably not have agreed to this. But now, with everything else that was going on, the prospect of a visit to France didn't seem so terrifying anymore. She was almost looking forward to getting away from all of the problems in Scotland for a little while.

"You would really want to do that?" he asked, as though he didn't dare believe it.

Mary nodded. The small smile on Francis's face at her response almost made this daring step worth it. It made her feel slightly less terrified, at least. Even Bash had never looked this happy at the prospect of getting to spend time with her. Did Francis really want to give the matchmaking process a chance, too?

"I'll make sure it goes as smoothly as possible," Francis promised, as though he still needed to persuade her to agree to this. "I know how...interesting the French royal family can seem, to those who are not part of it. If at any point you need to get away from them for a little while-"

These words (and the promise of not having to deal with Catherine and Henry twenty-four hours a day) made Mary feel brave enough to make her next suggestion...

"Well, perhaps you and I could go somewhere alone together-as part of the show, I mean-if filming at the French castle gets a little tedious after a little while..."

She knew that the public had been demanding that the two of them spend more time alone together in upcoming episodes, after all, and she knew it was only fair to honour their requests, as part of her promise to the queen of Scotland.

"Like a date?" Francis asked her with a grin.

Mary could tell that he was teasing her, but still, there was something about the look on his face that made Mary think that perhaps he was interested in trying something like that.

"Mary, I'm joking," Francis told her quickly, like he'd interpreted the embarrassed look on Mary's face as reluctance. "But, if there _is_ somewhere you'd like to go in France, anywhere, then name it, and we can go and film there."

"Anywhere?" Mary asked him, almost smiling now.

"Anywhere," Francis replied, looking like a king again, a king who had the means to deliver on any promise, any request; a king who had a whole country at his command.

Assuming that he was joking, just trying to make her feel better and forget about her problems, Mary decided to play along: "I've always wanted to go to Paris," she told him with a raised eyebrow. "And I mean _really_ go to Paris, not just as part of a royal visit."

Francis stood up and smiled at her. "Then we shall go to Paris," he announced.


	12. Chapter 12

"Mesdames et messieurs..."

"Je suis très heureux d'être ici…"

"Merci pour m'avoir invité à votre pays…"

Mary paced up and down the floor of the television room, reciting words in French over and over. She knew that she would have to make one or two official speeches in the language when she arrived at the castle in France, and she'd been using every opportunity to practice in the Scottish castle over the few days since she had decided to travel with Francis.

"Well?" she asked her Publicist, when she finally stopped pacing. She was definitely out of practice when it came to speaking French. She turned to look at Narcisse, who was lounging on a nearby sofa, watching her with a contemplative expression on his face.

"Not bad," he replied with a vague nod.

As her Publicist, he had been helping her to prepare for the royal visit, assisting her with her speech-giving practice, going over lists of possible questions and answers when dealing with the media, helping to prepare her schedule for the three-day visit, and even working with Mary's fashion designers to help plan her outfits.

Mary sighed at Narcisse's response. She supposed it was probably about the best she could hope for, given the short amount of time she'd had to prepare. She only hoped that she had done enough.

Narcisse had just started to go over a few not-so-diplomatic topics that Mary should probably avoid talking about while she was in France, when they were interrupted by the sound of a loud knock on the door.

"Can we come in yet?" Mary heard Lola's voice shouting through the door.

"Yes, hurry up, Narcisse!" she then heard Kenna's bossy voice call out after Lola.

Mary rolled her eyes, but she couldn't help smiling at how eager they were to get into the room.

Since Lola had found out that Francis had agreed to take Mary to Paris, Lola had been far too enthusiastic about the whole thing for Mary's liking. Lola had also told Kenna all about it, and Kenna had 'conveniently' arranged a visit to the Scottish castle this week 'to see James'-a visit which had mainly consisted of giggling and gossiping with Lola for the past three days, while Mary tried her best to tell them to be quiet.

"Fine, enter," Narcisse told the girls with a sigh.

The door was flung open, and Kenna and Lola burst into the room, holding various hairbrushes and makeup bags in their hands.

Mary shook her head in exasperation. She had agreed to allow Lola and Kenna to help her get ready for her visit to France in the last hour before she had to leave the Scottish castle to head to the airport, acting against the advice of her hair and makeup team, but now, she was starting to have second thoughts.

They seemed to be acting like Mary was a regular teenage girl who was about to go on a date, and this idea was making Mary feel a little dizzy.

She was just about to warn them not to go over-the-top with her makeup when she caught sight of somebody else standing in the doorway…

"Greer!" she shouted in surprise, before she ran to hug her best friend.

Mary almost couldn't believe it…she knew that Greer was due to leave Scotland for her honeymoon in a couple of days' time, but it seemed her friend had made the time for a surprise visit to the castle in the meantime.

Mary didn't have too long for greetings and exclamations of surprise with Greer-Kenna ushered her into the nearest chair, complaining that they didn't have much time before Mary had to leave, and then Lola and Kenna began to style Mary's hair and apply her makeup, with Greer occasionally helping them out.

After about fifteen minutes, they were interrupted by another knock on the door.

They all turned towards the doorway in time to see Bash enter the room, looking a little sheepish at disturbing them.

As he bowed politely to them all, Mary glanced in Kenna's direction-she seemed to be watching Bash with a curious expression on her face.

"Princess," Bash greeted her with a half-smile, after he had said hello to the others.

Mary managed to smile back at him, but still she watched him curiously, although perhaps for different reasons than Kenna-Bash was still something of a mystery to her; a puzzle wrapped in pretty packaging that she felt like she had to solve.

Discreetly, he nodded his head in the direction of the far corner of the room, and Mary worked out that he wanted to talk to her in private.

Mary excused herself from the 'makeup chair' for a few moments, making several promises that she wouldn't take too long, and then she followed Bash to the corner of the room, just out of earshot of the others. She could practically feel Kenna's eyes on the two of them the whole time.

"I have something for you," Bash told her in barely more than a whisper, the moment they were out of earshot.

With that, he took off the plain and simple ring he always wore on his finger and handed it to her.

"Bash, I can't accept this," said Mary, feeling strangely uncomfortable, for some reason. She started to remind him that the ring had been a gift to Bash from his mother, but Bash cut her off-

"It's only a temporary gift, for your visit to France," he explained. "The ring is carved with all sorts of symbols of Scotland and Scottish royalty-anyone who catches sight of it will be sure you're wearing it as a sign of loyalty to your country. I thought it might help to make a good impression, especially after your last interview…"

Mary couldn't help shuddering as she remembered her recent disastrous interview, and the bird-in-flight pin, and the argument with Francis that had followed. She was still afraid that the public would react negatively to her, believing her to have deliberately worn a rebel symbol on television.

"Thank you," said Mary as she finally accepted the ring from Bash.

She wasn't sure how to feel about it. A part of her was grateful that Bash seemed to be trying to help her to bring about some positive publicity for the Scottish royal family while she was in France-or trying to protect Mary, at least-but another part of her was a little suspicious-why would Bash need to wear something that gave the _appearance_ of being loyal to Scotland in the first place? Was he _really_ full of Scottish pride? Or did he simply want everyone to think that he was? What was he hiding?

Before she could voice any of these concerns, Mary caught sight of Kenna walking out of the room. She looked so distressed that Mary decided she should probably go and check on her.

She thanked Bash again and excused herself. As she walked out of the room, she hurriedly untied her makeshift necklace that she made from black ribbon from her around her neck, and threaded the ribbon through the ring, so that the ring sat next to the silver key. Then, she placed the ribbon back around her neck.

It didn't take Mary too long to find Kenna-the door to the room opposite the television room had been left half-open. Mary walked inside the room and gently closed the door behind her. To her surprise, Kenna was looking very glum as she sat on the window seat and stared out of the large windows with her arms folded. As Mary got even closer, she was even more surprised to see that Kenna was crying.

Kenna was alerted to Mary's presence when Mary accidentally stepped on a particularly creaky bit of the wooden floor, and Kenna jumped at the loud noise before she rolled her eyes and glared in Mary's direction.

"I'm sorry, I'll just, er…" Mary stammered as she gestured in the direction of the door. She wasn't really sure what to do-Kenna was always so strong, so composed, and so sarcastic-she'd never seen her break down like this. She was sure that Kenna never would have _wanted_ Mary to see her like this.

She had just taken a few steps in the direction of the door when Kenna finally spoke-

"What's it like, Mary?" she said, her voice sounding shaky.

"I'm sorry?" Mary asked her with a confused frown.

"Francis," Kenna whispered, like this explained anything. "I've seen the way he looks at you," Kenna finally continued after a long pause, as Mary fought off a strange urge to blush. "And Bash," she added, now looking even more devastated.

"Kenna," said Mary, uncertainly. She wasn't exactly sure what was going on. Did Kenna have a crush on _Francis_? Or would she have simply preferred a marriage proposal from a powerful future King of France, instead of the future King of Scotland? " _Every_ boy looks at you like that," she insisted. It was true, after all. Back during their school days in London, all the boys had always wanted Kenna.

But Kenna shook her head, as though Mary was wrong in what she was saying.

Mary tried a different approach: "You're engaged to the King of Scotland. You're going to be a queen, just like you always wanted-"

"James doesn't love me," Kenna interrupted her, as another tear fell down her cheek. "Not the way that Francis loves _you-_ "

"Kenna, stop," said Mary. It made her uncomfortable, when anybody talked about Francis having feelings for her, especially when Mary was fairly certain that those feelings didn't exist.

"You all know it's true, about me and James," Kenna continued, apparently misinterpreting Mary's reasons for cutting the conversation off. "I'm sure you and Greer laugh about it together, the way you always used to laugh at me back in London-"

Mary felt a strange twist of guilt. It had never even occurred to her that Kenna could be hurt by anything Mary and Greer said about her-especially as she always seemed to consider herself to be so superior to the two of them.

"He'll be my husband, but not my lover, or my knight, or my _prince_ ," Kenna sobbed. "Never that."

Before Mary could say anything in response, Mary caught her staring at the ring that was hanging from her necklace. Bash's ring.

"It must be nice," said Kenna with a sigh, "to have a boy look at you like that, to have a boy take you on a date to _Paris_ …I've always wanted to go on a romantic trip to Paris…"

At those words, and the expression of mingled jealousy and longing on Kenna's face, something suddenly became perfectly clear to Mary, something that really, she had known all along.

This was not about Kenna's feelings for James, or even her feelings about Mary's upcoming weekend with Francis. It was _Bash_ who Kenna had feelings for; it was _Bash_ who she wanted.

In other circumstances, Mary might even have laughed at this revelation. Kenna, who had only ever looked at future kings and powerful politicians. Kenna, who would stop at nothing to marry into a ruling family. And after all that, she had fallen for the boy who worked in the castle stables; the boy who was so poor he could barely afford to buy a ring from a local giftshop. But there was nothing funny about any of this.

"Kenna," said Mary, her own voice shaking; "I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry…"

Kenna shook her head and wiped away a tear. "I have a duty to my own country," she declared.

Mary recognised that look-she had seen it on the faces of her mother and her brother hundreds of times-Kenna was steeling herself, pushing her emotions down, preparing herself to do her duty, in spite of what her heart was telling her.

"I have to go through with this marriage," she announced to the almost empty room, her voice sounding hollow, empty.

Mary felt heartbroken just watching her. "You, me and Lola," she said, before she could think better of it, "what a mess we are all in…" It was the first time that Mary had considered the three of them as truly in this together.

Surprisingly, Kenna actually managed a smile at this statement. "That's an understatement," she replied.

Eventually, after several promises that Kenna could finish applying her makeup, Mary persuaded her to head back into the television room with her.

As they walked across the hall, Mary tucked her black necklace into her shirt, hiding the key and the ring from view. After what Kenna had just revealed, she no longer felt so pleased at the idea of Bash giving her the ring.

It turned out that the others had barely noticed their absence from the room-Bash was making polite conversation with Greer about her wedding, and thanking her for allowing him to attend, while Lola and Narcisse were sitting close together on the sofa, holding hands as they pretended to be paying attention to a news report about yet another protest in Edinburgh.

Mary felt a flicker of fear on their behalf, as she wondered what would happen when her mother inevitably found out about Lola and Narcisse's romance.

After Bash had left the room, the girls had a few more minutes to style Mary's hair and apply her makeup, but all too soon, Narcisse was ushering Mary out of her seat, telling her that the flight was scheduled to take off soon, and the film crew was waiting for her.

With a sigh, Mary started to head out into the corridor. Just before she could leave the room, Narcisse took hold of her arm.

"Remember," he told her in a low voice when Mary turned back to look at him, "you are in control of this show-you could potentially be a queen of France…don't spend this whole trip bowing to the king and queen's every whim; you are not their subject."

Mary could only nod-it felt like there were already too many thoughts and plans and strategies in her head at the moment.

It seemed like Narcisse was still treating the matchmaking show as his own personal game. Mary just wasn't sure if he considered her as an ally or merely a chess piece who he could manoeuvre whenever he felt like it; a card that he could deal when he needed to win the imaginary game.

* * *

Mary was already nervous enough, so it definitely didn't help that Lola, Kenna and Greer had decided to follow her on her way to the entrance hall, where she was due to meet with Francis.

When she finally arrived at the top of the grand staircase that led down to the entrance hall, Mary spotted Francis immediately. He was dressed in a white shirt and black trousers, with his wavy blond hair perfectly styled. He also looked very regal, standing up straight with his hands clasped behind his back, and a very serious expression on his face…

He was handsome. Mary hardly ever allowed herself to think this, but the truth of it was undeniable.

Mary felt another rush of nerves. Suddenly, her throat felt dry, and her legs felt heavy, along with her breathing. She wasn't sure that she would be able to put one leg in front of the other and walk down the stairs. Even worse, the television crew also surrounded the entrance hall, waiting to capture everything on camera.

"Go on," Lola prompted her, her voice barely more than a whisper.

Mary looked over her shoulder at her three friends (although she wasn't fully sure if she could call Kenna her friend just yet), and they all looked like they were trying not to giggle like schoolgirls.

She might have rolled her eyes at the three of them, but still Mary leaned in to give Greer a hug before she left. She held her tight, trying not to think about how long it might be before she saw her best friend again.

As she willed herself to take that first step so she could walk down the stairs, Mary thought not about Francis-the-future-king who was standing waiting for her; instead, she thought about the boy who had held her protectively in his arms when she'd been crying on the castle roof only a few days ago; she thought about the boy who had allowed her to wear his jumper as he comforted her in the library; the boy who had looked so happy when she'd told him she would go to France with him; the boy who had told her he would take her to Paris.

These were the thoughts that carried her down the stairs towards Francis.

With every step she took, she was grateful that her stylists had decided to dress her in a simple white shirt and black trousers today for the journey, along with a pair of plain black shoes with only a small heel.

Francis seemed to notice her the moment she started walking down the stairs. He stopped looking in the direction of the Throne Room and looked up at her. His stern expression seemed to soften a little, and he even managed a smile.

"Mary," he greeted her as she got a little closer.

Somehow, Mary felt a little light-headed, just at hearing him utter that one word.

"Francis," she replied, trying to sound as dignified as possible.

He held out his hand, silently offering to help her take her final steps down the stairs.

Mary accepted the offer, taking his hand in hers. It would almost have been a nice moment, if not for the fact that several members of the camera crew stepped closer to them, trying to zoom in on their joined hands, and also the fact that Mary really could hear the three girls giggling now, from wherever they were hiding upstairs.

"I'm sorry," Mary whispered to Francis, through gritted teeth.

"It's fine," he replied. Luckily, he looked amused by it all.

There wasn't much time to make small talk, as several members of staff started to usher them out of the entrance hall.

As she started to head outside, Mary looked over her shoulder, wanting to catch one more glimpse of her home before she left the country for a couple of days.

In that moment, she noticed her mother, her father and James, all of them leaning over the wooden railings that overlooked the entrance hall. It seemed that they had forgone their royal duties this morning so they could come and say goodbye to her, in their own way.

When Mary caught her eye, her mother nodded her, and Mary nodded back, before she turned back around and headed out of the door. Something about the goodbye felt strangely final, as though something was ending.

* * *

There was a limo waiting in the driveway to take them to the airport. Several members of staff got into the car with them, although Mary wasn't sure if this was a blessing or a curse-on the one hand, it meant she could avoid any awkward silences with Francis, but on the other hand, her Publicity Team talked so obsessively about the trip to France that their conversation only served to make Mary feel even more terrified…

They went over the details again as the car headed in the direction of the airport-there would be photographers waiting, when they arrived at the French airport, and Mary and Francis would be expected to pose for a few photographs for them. Then there would be a car waiting to take them to the French castle. Upon their arrival, Mary would be giving a speech in French to the waiting subjects, in the hope that her speech might help to ease diplomatic relations between France and Scotland a little. Mary would also be expected to spend time with Francis's parents and his younger brothers, and she would have the opportunity to observe Francis and his family while they completed their royal duties, to see if she could fit into their lives, in the way that her mother hoped she would.

After that, Mary and Francis would be visiting Paris, together, on a date, with only a television crew for company.

Mary felt overwhelmed just at the thought of it.

Finally, the limo pulled up just outside the Scottish airport. Another team of staff arrived to walk them from the car across the airfield towards the Valois family's royal private jet.

* * *

Mary might have felt a little dazed and distracted, but it was impossible not to be impressed by the interior of the plane-there were expensive-looking leather seats and polished wooden tables with various glasses and plates and vases filled with flowers displayed on top of them; there were a couple of television screens and overhead lights, as well as a dark blue carpet on the floor, and large windows to look out of during the flight.

A member of the cabin crew led her to a seat next to Francis, and then the two of them were alone together-or alone as they could be, anyway.

As the plane's engines roared to life, and the crew prepared for take-off, Mary felt her heart start to beat faster. This was it. It was actually happening. She was really going to France, back to the scene of the attack two years ago. She was going away from Scotland, without her family, with only Francis by her side. She would have to face Henry and Catherine again, in a country that was a rival of Scotland, and she would be going on a date with Francis in Paris, her first real date, and she didn't know how to behave on a real-life date, and the cameras would be filming it all…

"Mary," she heard Francis whisper from the seat beside hers, "it'll be fine. I promise."

He had apparently sensed her nerves.

His voice was so soft, so comforting, in the way that it had been back in the library a couple of days ago. It was a voice that Mary wasn't sure many people had heard before-Francis did not sound so gentle when he was giving official royal speeches. It was a voice that she could believe in.

Mary nodded, feeling more reassured, but she was still finding it a little difficult to speak.

It was only when the plane was finally up in the sky that Francis seemed to realise something; Mary noticed him looking at all of the members of staff from Scotland who were on the plane with them. Then, he frowned, as though something didn't quite add up…

"Where is Narcisse?" Francis finally asked her.

Mary couldn't help frowning in return-although she felt more surprised and confused by the question than annoyed by it.

"I…I thought it would be easier, for diplomatic relations, if Narcisse stayed behind in Scotland this weekend," Mary replied, although she had thought this explanation would already have been obvious. She was already nervous enough about her visit to France, and she hadn't wanted to complicate things further by bringing an enemy of the Valois family into their castle.

"Oh," Francis simply replied, looking a little lost for words. He actually looked grateful that Mary had decided to leave Narcisse behind this weekend.

It occurred to Mary that Francis was genuinely surprised that she had not brought her Publicist with her; it occurred to her that he actually would have accepted it, if she'd wanted Narcisse to accompany her on this visit, in spite of the hatred between the two men.

Before either of them could say anything else, Francis was called away to speak to a member of his own Publicity Team about a meeting that would be taking place in the French castle later in the day, and Mary's team used the opportunity to brief her all over again about the schedule for their visit to France.

Mary tried not to look too exasperated; she knew that this would be the reality of a life with Francis-the two of them would always have duties to perform, people to meet, schedules to keep. They would not always have time alone together, in the way that a normal couple would.

Almost instinctively, Mary took hold of her necklace, which she had hidden under her shirt. She clasped her hand tightly around both the key and the ring.

She had other options. Even though those other options would bring about their own problems and complications. There were still options there, for now. But then she thought of Kenna, and James, and her mother, and the situation in Scotland, and she knew that the other options might not be there for much longer-time was running out. She would have to make a decision soon.

The moment she had tucked the necklace under her shirt again, hiding it from view, Francis sat back down beside her.

Mary stared at him for a few moments, lost in thought. Then, she made up her mind about something; she knew that if she was going to make an informed decision at the end of this matchmaking process, she would need to have as many facts as possible…

"What is the history, between you and Narcisse?" she asked Francis.

Francis visibly tensed at the question, and a look of pain crossed his face.

"I'm sorry," Mary muttered. "It's just…my mother is sick, the situation in Scotland is dire, my brother is about to inherit the throne, and I'm being pressured to make a decision that will affect my entire future. I'm not sure I can do that unless I have all the facts. Perhaps it would be better if we decided to be honest with each other…"

Mary knew that what she had just proposed would be risky-she was making some sort of promise to be honest herself with Francis in return for _his_ openness. Mary had never been very good at being honest and open.

However, her words seemed to do the trick, because Francis took a deep breath, and Mary just knew that he was about to tell her _something_ , at least…

"A few years ago," he started with a sigh, "Narcisse worked as a Publicist and Advisor in France for royals and celebrities alike. He was well-known for his under-handed methods, his back-handed deals, and his ruthlessness. He had a reputation for making problems…disappear…."

Mary turned in her seat so she could look right at Francis and give him her full attention. She saw that he looked visibly uncomfortable at his recollections of Narcisse. However, after a brief pause, he carried on talking…

"He came to work at the castle, on my mother's recommendation My mother was trying to get back at my father for an affair, and no doubt Narcisse was in the right place at the right time. He seemed to be skilled at pushing through not-so-pleasant deals that the two of them had come up with together. They were…close; I don't want to think about how close…"

Francis shuddered, and Mary felt a twist of sympathy at the look of pain on Francis's face. She'd heard rumours that the marriage between the King and Queen of France was not a very loving one, but she'd never really thought about what went on behind the scenes before. Yet it was perfectly clear what Francis was implying about his mother's relationship with Narcisse…

"Our subjects threatened to riot at some of the policies Narcisse helped to introduce," said Francis. "But that was not the worst of it-there were rumours, that he was in with groups of rebels who were in favour of abolishing the monarchy completely. Some said he was hoping to seize power for himself. He and his son had been spotted, now and again, meeting with suspected rebels and criminals in dark corners of dingy pubs in Paris…"

Mary felt a twist of discomfort as she thought about the fact that _she_ had spotted Narcisse hiding in a corner of a dark and dingy Scottish pub recently. She could only hope that he wasn't plotting something in Scotland.

"There was nothing we could do to prove it, however. But then, the…" Francis paused, looking like he was unsure whether he should say much more, "but then the attack on the castle happened…

Mary took a deep breath, trying not to allow the memories of that night to overwhelm her. Suddenly, an image appeared in her head, one that she had barely given much thought to since the explosion in the castle…

 _A man wearing a mask had smirked at her, when she'd got past the guards that night in France. He'd held up his wine glass to her, in a toast to her success. He'd been pleased that she'd got one over on the royals…_

Of course, it had been Narcisse! She could see his face clearly in her mind now. He'd still been working for the French royal family back then. Had he been planning something, even as he'd smirked at her? Had he known that it was a Scottish princess, behind the mask? Was Francis about to tell her that he'd somehow been involved in the attack on the castle that night?

"Many were suspicious that he might have somehow been involved," Francis went on, as though he could read Mary's thoughts, "nothing could be proved to implicate Narcisse directly, but a few days later, private videos were leaked of Narcisse's son, giving anti-royal speeches to rebels-he was heard threatening some sort of attack on the castle, bragging about what he and his followers would do. In my father's eyes, it was enough evidence to place him under arrest. Narcisse was furious, of course. He made all sort of threats, promised to destroy us if we did not release his son. He leaked negative stories about the royals to the press; funds, treasures, important documents, were all stolen from the castle. Until finally, his son somehow managed to escape prison. I don't know how, or where he went, but he seemed to have fled the country. Narcisse wasn't far behind him, of course. He was in disgrace in France-he had helped to ruin the reputation of the royals, and many still suspected him to be behind the attack. Mary, you should know, before he left, he promised one final act of revenge against my family…"

"And then he ended up in Scotland…" Mary finished for him.

Francis nodded.

"And you're afraid that he's planning his final act as part of the matchmaking show..." Mary guessed.

Again, Francis nodded, with a very troubled look on his face.

At these words, an uncomfortable silence seemed to hang in the air between them.

Mary wasn't sure how she felt after hearing this story; it was not the same sob story that Narcisse had told her about being parted from his son. This story was very different. Somebody wasn't telling the truth, although right now, Mary felt like she believed Francis's version of events over Narcisse's.

There was no solid proof, of course, that Narcisse and his son had actually planned the attack, but the circumstances were definitely suspicious. Either way, Narcisse had definitely not been a pleasant character, back in France, and Mary hadn't seen much evidence that he had changed.

"Mary," said Francis, "I can't force you to dismiss him, but you should know, I'm afraid for you..."

In spite of her worry, Mary felt a little flattered by Francis's words-sometimes, it felt like nobody worried about her very much.

She knew she would have to keep an eye on Narcisse when she got back to Scotland. She was already suspicious about Bash and his mother carrying out secret meetings at the pub in the village, and she didn't like that Narcisse could also be up to something there, too. Was Mary inadvertently protecting people in the castle who were working against Scotland and its royal family?

Things would have to change, when she got back home. She would have to be more careful.

But still, Francis had been honest with her-he had allowed her to share in this not-so-pleasant part of his family's past…

"Thank you," Mary told him, and she meant it.

He nodded in acknowledgement, but he still looked a little distressed.

Without thinking too much about it, Mary reached for his hand. She might not have done it so willingly, back at the castle with everybody watching, but here, in the relative privacy of the plane, the gesture felt surprisingly normal. Mary had a strange feeling that she and Francis had held hands often before, back when they were children...

Francis looked surprised for a moment, but then he held Mary's hand in his, and the two of them sat in silence for a few moments. This time, the silence was not an uncomfortable one.

They were interrupted when a member of the cabin crew approached their seats. "We'll be landing soon," the woman informed them. She saw their joined hands and smiled at Francis, looking like a proud aunt who was meeting her favourite nephew's latest girlfriend. Mary tried not to blush too much.

"Thank you," Francis informed the woman with a polite nod, looking far more professional than Mary felt.

As the plane prepared for its slow descent, Mary looked out the window, mentally trying to prepare herself for what was to come.

The sun seemed brighter in the sky now, but the land below still seemed to be cast in shadow, as though it wanted to remain a mystery to her, for now.


	13. Chapter 13

In what seemed like no time at all, the private jet landed on French soil.

Mary barely had time to feel another rush of nerves before she was ushered towards the plane's exit door.

The waiting journalists and photographers might have been asked to remain at a distance from the private jet, but still Mary could hear their excited chatter, and she could see the constant flashing of the camera lens from across the airfield the moment the plane's door opened.

Mary took a few deep breaths, trying to calm herself as she walked slowly down the stairs attached to the plane, focusing on not tripping over or falling. She knew that she was on display here, representing Scotland on what her mother would call a diplomatic mission. Now was not the time to get distracted and lose focus. The French media would home in on her every mistake.

Francis walked slowly down the stairs beside her. He looked a lot more comfortable than Mary did-Mary guessed that this was because, as the heir to the throne, Francis had a lot more practice at doing things like this in full view of the country's media.

At the very least, he gave her nods of what seemed to be reassurance every few seconds, and Mary felt slightly better.

They were escorted across the airfield by a team of security guards, while the camera crew walked backwards a few feet ahead of them, filming every moment of their arrival.

At the same time, the cameras in the distance continued to flash as photographers shouted their names.

"Welcome to France," Mary heard Francis mutter from next to her.

She looked up at him and noticed that he was smirking. It was so rare for her to hear Francis make sarcastic comments or joke around that Mary couldn't help grinning back at him.

They were allowed a few minutes inside one of the private rooms in the airport, where Mary was quickly surrounded by members of her hair and makeup team, all of them attempting to adjust her hair and makeup so she would look more presentable in front of the cameras after the flight.

Then they were sent out to face the press.

Mary tried her best to remain calm and professional as she moved slowly along the line of journalists and photographers just outside the main airport doors, telling herself that she would only have to do this for a few minutes, and then she would be escorted to the waiting cars nearby.

Francis also moved along the line, switching seamlessly from French to English to Italian, depending on the nationality of the journalist asking the question. Mary could already tell that he wasn't as nervous as she was about speaking to the press here.

Still, Mary tried her best to be diplomatic whenever she was asked any questions about French and Scottish politics, or any questions about her brother's upcoming wedding to Kenna. It felt strange in this moment, to be standing in her brother's place, to have the media focusing on her in the way that they had always focused on James.

Most of the journalists asked fairly standard questions, such as Mary's thoughts about her visit to France, and who had designed the outfit she was wearing, and whether she was looking forward to visiting Paris tomorrow. It was only when she got towards the end of the row of people that one journalist happened to mention 'the recent attack on the French castle' in a casual, off-hand way, like it was nothing.

At the mention of the attack, Mary jumped. Without thinking about it, she reached down and grabbed hold of Francis's hand, like she was unconsciously seeking out some sort of support. As their hands made contact, Mary noticed that Francis jumped, too, like he wasn't expecting her to reach for him, but then he seemed to relax, taking her hand in his.

Mary had to fight off a blush, feeling like an idiot for her reflex reaction, and for breaking royal protocol by grabbing hold of Francis's hand in public, surrounded by cameras, but she couldn't deny that there was something reassuring about the gesture. She kept hold of Francis's hand as she answered the journalists' final questions.

Finally, after they had spoken to all of the journalists, a couple of bodyguards began to lead Mary and Francis in the direction of the waiting cars.

As soon as Mary had taken her seat inside the royal car, she allowed herself a few moments to take a few deep breaths and breathe a couple of sighs of relief. She knew that she would have to get a hold of herself, and quickly-royals did not have the luxury of losing their composure, and the weekend would be full of many more cameras and journalists and awkward questions.

Almost immediately, Francis's phone began to ring. Soon, he was taking call after call as the car began its slow journey towards the French castle-some of the calls were from family members, while other calls seemed to be business calls relating to his royal duties.

Mary didn't really mind too much that Francis's attention was taken up by his phone calls. She had already prepared herself for the fact that Francis would have plenty of work waiting for him when he arrived in his home country. If she did decide to marry a future king, then she would have to accept the fact that they would both have many distractions in their lives.

Mary used the time to look out of the car window, taking in the sight of fields and forests and old country lanes as all of it passed by.

The French castle was situated over an hour's drive away from the capital city of Paris, and Mary suspected that this was more for security reasons than anything else-in the same way that Mary's mother preferred not to live right in the centre of Edinburgh-but she couldn't deny that the French countryside which surrounded the castle was beautiful. She just had to try not to think about the fact that she had once crept through these fields and forests, when she had been running away from the French castle with her brother the morning after the attack.

* * *

After what felt like a long time, and also no time at all, the car arrived at two large iron gates, which marked the first entrance to the castle. Slowly, the gates opened, and then the car was winding down the long driveway, through the grounds situated at the front of the castle and towards the main doors.

The castle looked almost exactly as Mary remembered it, with its high grey walls and Medieval style design. The front garden was neat and tidy, with several trees and flowers lining the paths.

As they got closer to the doors, Mary noticed that a large party seemed to have gathered outside on the front path to greet them. She felt yet another jolt of anxiety.

Finally, the car came to a halt.

"Are you ready?" Mary heard Francis whisper to her as the driver got out of the front seat to open the doors for them.

"No," Mary told him truthfully, "but let's go anyway."

With that, Mary was stepping out of the car, hoping that the waiting photographers wouldn't notice that her hands were shaking, and she took a few steps closer to the front doors.

Soon, Francis was standing beside her, and they were taking slow steps down the front path, stopping to greet several members of staff and friends of the French family along the way. Mary felt a little overwhelmed as various people bowed and curtsied and spoke to her in French, but she tried not to show this in her facial expression.

Francis introduced her to several members of staff and friends of his parents, and Mary noticed that he looked a lot more comfortable here he than he had looked back in Scotland.

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Francis's father, the King of France, walking out of the front door and striding down the stone steps outside the castle. It seemed he had taken his time to come outside to greet her. Before Mary could look away, he caught sight of her staring him and glared at her, his facial expression full of loathing. Apparently, his feelings about the Scottish royal family hadn't changed.

Mary was distracted when Francis's mother, Catherine, walked towards her with open arms. The queen was beaming, looking for all intents and purposes like she was thrilled to see her. She still looked rather imposing, in spite of her grin, dressed in a black trouser suit and high heels, with expensive jewels draped over her neck and dangling from her ears, and her hair pulled up into a tight bun.

"Mary!" Catherine called out with another smile as she pulled a frowning Mary in for a hug.

The second she got closer however, she whispered in Mary's ear, "Smile, look happy, act like we're both _thrilled_ to be here together…"

Mary sighed and rolled her eyes. It seemed that Catherine hadn't changed, either. However, Mary played her part just as well as the queen did. As the two of them pulled apart, Mary smiled for the cameras along with Catherine, the two of them gripping each other's hands as they posed for photos, standing on the stairs leading up to the main doors.

In all of the pictures, Catherine would look like the sweet, doting mother who was delighted to be welcoming her potential daughter-in-law to France.

Mary was briefly grateful for the fact that she was smart enough to see through the act. She couldn't afford to let her guard down when she was around Catherine.

Before they could all head inside, Mary and Francis were asked to assemble on the front steps with the royal family, so that they could all give a few welcoming speeches to the cameras.

Francis stepped forward first, speaking in French to the small group of waiting journalists.

He stood tall, proud, speaking to the press without any hint of nerves in his voice. Mary knew that some day soon, he would be a king who his mother would be proud of. Would Mary really be here, at the French castle, in that imagined future, standing next to Francis as his queen?

Mary tried to concentrate on what Francis was actually saying: she picked up on a few phrases-he mentioned something about how no matter what happened, he hoped to improve relations between France and Scotland, and how he hoped that their countries could work together as allies, going into the future together as friends, rather than enemies.

She couldn't help smirking to herself as she noticed that Francis's father did not look impressed by his son's words.

Then it was Mary's turn to speak. She took a few deep breaths, stepped forward and spoke her opening lines in French, thanking the French royals for their 'hospitality' and the 'warm welcome' (she tried not to sound too sarcastic or roll her eyes in Catherine's direction as she spoke).

Narcisse had advised her to keep her head held high, to look proud and brave, so that people would take her seriously. She could only hope that she looked that way now. She also hoped that her people would see the Scottish ring around her neck, which she had taken care to ensure was visible as she stepped forward to give her speech.

Mary decided to echo a few of Francis's words. She spoke about how she too hoped that relations between the two countries could improve, and how she wished for Scotland to work together with countries like France.

At the very least, people seemed to be listening to her-their expressions were serious as they took notes and recorded what she was saying.

Now that she had everybody's full attention, she couldn't resist adding a few comments about how she hoped that all the people of Scotland and France would feel like they were truly helped and understood by the royals, and how she hoped to do more to assist those who felt like they were not being heard.

She knew she was taking a risk, making a comment that could be interpreted in so many different ways, but she felt like she needed to make some sort of appeal to those who were thinking about rebelling against the crown, to try in some way to let them know that there were other ways of communicating their unhappiness, without resorting to violence.

It was almost worth it, just to see the look of distaste on the face of the King of France.

* * *

Finally, the speeches were over, and Mary and Francis were allowed to enter the castle.

For a few moments, the two of them stood around awkwardly in the castle's entrance hall; it was like they didn't know how to act or what say to each other now that they were no longer surrounded by journalists.

Francis even shuffled around on his feet and ran a hand through his hair.

For the first time, it occurred to Mary that Francis felt nervous whenever he was around her. She wasn't sure why this would be the case, as she had never had the ability to intimidate people in the way that James and Kenna could when they wanted to, but lately, the evidence seemed to be pointing that way when it came to Francis's behaviour around her. In a strange way, Mary liked this theory better than her previous belief that Francis hated her.

"Perhaps the princess would like a tour of the castle?" A friendly-sounding voice broke the awkward silence.

Mary looked over her shoulder and she recognised the woman who worked on the French royal family's private jet as a member of the cabin crew.

She smiled at the two of them, a fond expression on her face, and Mary knew that she was trying to help the two of them out, with no hidden agenda. Perhaps she had teenage children of her own, and therefore understood what they were both going through.

"Yes, Mary, would you like to see the castle?" said Francis. He looked like he was trying to regain his composure, or take back control of the situation.

Struggling to hide a smirk, Mary nodded in agreement. There was something endearing about seeing Francis look so nervous.

As Francis led her up and down various high-ceilinged corridors, Mary felt a strange sense of Deja-vu. All of the halls in the castle were familiar, and she could almost imagine that she and Francis had run up and down these same corridors as children, the two of them laughing together, happy.

Mary felt like the imaginary door in her mind that seemed to be guarding so many repressed memories was slowly starting to unlock, now that she was back in a place where she had spent so much time during her childhood.

Francis seemed to have found his voice over the past few minutes-he talked enthusiastically about all of the royal portraits of his ancestors that were displayed on the walls, and he went into detail about all of the royal artefacts and the antiques in various rooms of the castle.

Mary could tell that Francis was genuinely passionate about his royal heritage, his history and the day-to-day life in the French castle. As Francis pointed out the throne room and explained about a few of the royal ceremonies that had taken place in that room, it seemed to Mary that Francis was certain about his future as a king. Mary could only wish that she could be so certain about her own future.

Francis was talking so much now that Mary could almost forget that they were still being followed by the television crew. Still, she cast nervous glances about the castle every now and again-she was half-expecting Olivia to appear from around a corner.

There was only a moment of awkward silence when they passed the ballroom where the attack had taken place two years ago.

Mary felt her heart start to beat faster. She wasn't sure if she was ready to visit that place just yet. Luckily, Francis didn't say anything about that night. Silently, he led her past the ballroom door and on to another part of the castle.

Mary's mood picked up when Francis showed her the castle's main library. She had to stop herself from jumping up and down in excitement as she took in the numerous shelves stacked high with classic novels and history books. She knew that she could spend hours here, reading through all the old volumes.

"Do you like it?" Francis asked her with a grin.

"I like it very much," Mary told him truthfully.

It took a while for Francis to persuade her to leave the library to look at another room.

It was clear to Mary that the lifestyle in this castle was different to life in the Scottish castle. Everything was more elaborate-from the golden statues in the corridors to the dresses of the ladies who walked past them, and even the gestures that people shared, like the way that people greeted each other with two kisses on the cheek, or the way that the men kissed the hands of the ladies they were talking to before they walked away to speak to somebody else.

People conversed rapidly in a mixture of French, English and Italian, and it seemed to Mary like everybody was constantly talking about the next big event, or like there was always gossip to be shared. Mary only hoped that she and Francis weren't the subjects of current gossip in the castle.

As they walked through the drawing room, Mary couldn't help noticing that a few younger women threw envious-looking glares in her direction as she passed. Even if Olivia wasn't here, it seemed that Mary had competition for the prince's heart.

* * *

After Francis had shown her around the castle, the two of them were allowed a brief break for drinks and snacks. They ate in a small dining room with a few members of staff and friends of the royal family. There was not much more than a long wooden table in the room, but it looked cozy, at least, and Mary suspected that members of staff had thought it would be less intimidating for her to eat in the private dining room at first.

Francis didn't talk to her too much, and he was often distracted by other people in the room, who constantly asked him questions about his time in Scotland, but at the very least, the silence between them was more comfortable now.

All too quickly, Francis was summoned to a meeting that was to take place in one of the official meeting rooms with his father, and Francis's Publicity Team invited Mary to sit and observe the meeting. Mary nodded in agreement-these were the official royal duties that her mother had wanted her to see, after all.

Almost immediately, Mary noticed that there was an air of tension in the meeting room. The king sat with a frown on his face as he observed the gathered politicians, and as the meeting went on, he became angrier and louder, even banging his fist on the table at one point as he tried to overrule the politicians' new tax proposals.

Sitting in a corner of the room, Mary shuddered at the sound of the king's fist hitting the table. She dreaded the idea of living full-time in this castle while Henry was in charge.

On the other hand, Francis was polite to everyone in the room, never resorting to anger or rudeness in the way that his father did.

Mary even heard him whisper, "Father…" in a firm tone of voice, his expression stern, whenever the king started to get aggressive. The expression on Francis's face was tense, but it seemed he wasn't taking his tension out on the guests in the meeting room.

* * *

When the meeting was (finally) over, Mary and Francis were shown into the Throne Room, where they had apparently been scheduled to greet a few visitors to the castle.

Mary stood next to Francis in the middle of the room, trying not to feel overwhelmed as members of the public spoke to the two of them, and Mary was expected to say all the right things and bow and curtsey in all the right places while the cameras continued to film. It was always left to James to greet visitors to the Scottish castle, but Mary knew that this sort of thing would be expected of her, if she did decided to marry the future king of France, and so she would have to get into practice.

Again, Francis's behaviour was something of a revelation to Mary. He smiled at all of his subjects as he greeted them, easily making small talk with everybody in the room, and even abandoning royal protocol at times so that he could shake people's hands or pat them affectionately on the shoulder.

Whenever children were shown into the room, Francis knelt down to talk to them at their level, keeping his voice calm and gentle. Children seemed to be at ease around him, and Mary suspected that Francis had had plenty of practice being around children by taking care of his brothers.

As she observed everything that was going on in the Throne Room, Mary was struck by the idea that perhaps Francis was not cold or distant or stern after all. Here, in his home, surrounded by the people he knew, Francis was kind, and calm and generous.

Maybe Mary had been wrong about him all along.

Francis's smile was even brighter after he had finished his meet-and-greet with his subjects and his mother walked into the room with Francis's two younger brothers.

"Francis!" both boys called out from the doorway.

"Charles! Henri!" Francis called out in return, the moment he spotted them. He held out his arms, and the two boys ran towards their big brother, who pulled them in for a hug.

Mary heard him whisper to the two of them in French about how much he had missed them. Even she had to admit that the scene was heart-warming.

Francis whispered something else to Charles and Henri, and then they were shuffling over to Mary, both of them looking a little shy.

"Bonjour," Mary greeted them with a smile, trying to ease their nerves.

Both boys bowed to her and then greeted her in a mix of English and French. It seemed that they were well practised in their royal duties, in spite of their shyness.

"Perhaps the boys would appreciate a walk outside?" Mary heard Catherine mutter to Francis.

* * *

And so, less than ten minutes later, Mary found herself outside in the castle's grounds, walking next to Francis and his younger brothers.

Henri seemed to be the quieter of the two, as he stayed close to Francis, holding his older brother's hand as they walked. Charles was the more confident one, and he often ran ahead of them, before he ran back, speaking in mix of hurried English and French as he tried to catch Francis up with everything that had happened in the castle in his absence.

When Charles started to tell Francis about his 'new girlfriend' Mary noticed the frown that crossed Francis's face.

Mary struggled to hide her grin-Mary recognised an over-protective older brother when she saw one after her years growing up with James.

"You are too young to have a girlfriend," Francis told his brother, his tone of voice firmer now.

In response, Charles folded his arms and stamped his foot. " _You_ had a girlfriend when you were my age!" he snapped at his brother in French. "Everybody says so!"

For some reason, Francis blushed at these words.

Mary frowned. She couldn't remember Francis ever having a 'girlfriend' during his childhood. She wondered who Charles was talking about.

"Go and play a game with your brother," Francis told Charles, before Charles could embarrass him any further.

With a sigh, Charles ran ahead of them again towards the nearest trees. After a couple of minutes, Henri let go of Francis's hand and ran after Charles.

Mary realised that she and Francis were now alone, except for the camera crew, who were thankfully keeping their distance from them in the grounds.

The two of them walked side-by-side for a little while. Mary took the opportunity to get a good look around at the gardens. If anything, these gardens around the back of the castle were even more beautiful than the gardens around the front. There was a large fountain right in the middle of the main garden, and trees and bushes lining the paths. The trees grew taller and thicker on one side of the gardens, and Mary already knew that they led into a small forest. As she thought about the forest, she felt yet another prickle of Deja-vu.

Francis walked with his head held high and his hands clasped behind his back. Every few seconds, he glanced in the direction of the trees where Henri and Charles were playing their game, keeping a close eye on his brothers. A fond smile seemed to cross his face whenever the boys waved to him.

Mary couldn't help smiling as she watched him.

"Is everything all right?" Francis suddenly asked her.

Mary blushed. It seemed that Francis had noticed her smiling.

"It's very sweet, that you and your brothers are so close," said Mary, deciding to just be honest about what she was thinking.

Francis seemed to watch her for a little while before he responded. Mary wasn't sure if her words had been lost in translation, or if he thought that she was mocking him.

Finally, Francis grinned a little, and then he spoke: "I've always enjoyed spending time with them, away from the castle," he told her, "giving them a break from royal duties. If I have children of my own one day, I'd hope to give them something of a normal life, too."

Francis's answer surprised Mary. "Do you think about having children of your own?" she asked him, genuinely intrigued.

Francis hesitated. Mary realised that she'd just asked him a rather personal question, given their royal status. She was just about to tell him that he didn't have to answer when Francis started talking again…

"Yes," he said with a smile. "A boy and a girl. I think about how my wife and I could spend time with them as a family. Maybe we could take them on holidays to Paris, or to other places around the world, or spend Sunday afternoons out here in the grounds…" He blushed a little and went quiet, as though he had said too much.

Mary could relate to his embarrassment-she had been warned since childhood that she should not talk too much to others about her own personal thoughts and dreams; it was not fitting of her status as a royal. Royals were not supposed to long for their own personal happiness.

For Mary, Francis's dream of having children was yet another surprise revelation. Francis didn't talk about children as though they were merely necessary heirs to a throne; a means of carrying on a blood line-he seemed to genuinely want a family of his own.

They walked on in silence for a little, with Charles and Henri occasionally running around them before they ran back towards the trees.

The sun was starting to set, and the grounds looked even more beautiful, but Mary was lost in her own thoughts. The loss of a 'normal' family life had always been something that had put her off from the idea of marrying a royal. And yet Francis actually wanted that family life, with a wife and children and holidays in Paris. But did he want all of that with _her_?

* * *

By the time Mary sat down with the French royal family for the evening meal, she felt slightly more relaxed than she'd thought she would be. She was not even intimidated by the fact that they were now dining in the larger dining room, under the watchful eyes of the king and queen, while they were waited on by many members of staff.

Mary concentrated on using all of the correct knives and forks to eat her meal with, and she tried to ignore the fact that Catherine seemed to throw constant glares in her direction from over her glass of wine. The queen then excused herself from the room before dessert was served, and Mary had no idea where she was going.

Before she could think too much more about Catherine, Mary was distracted by a few other members of the extended family at neighbouring tables, who leaned over to ask her questions about the matchmaking show and her life in Scotland. They talked about the show as though it was nothing but light entertainment, even though it had never felt like that to Mary.

After dinner, it was announced that filming had finished for the day, and Mary was told that she could head to the room where she would be staying tonight.

Just before she left the dining room, Francis moved to stand opposite her. "I'll see you tomorrow, and we'll go to Paris," he told her. His words sounded like promises.

Then, quickly, he gently took hold of her hand and kissed it. He looked a little embarrassed by the gesture, as though he'd done it without thinking; as though they'd once been more affectionate with one another like this and he'd momentarily forgotten all the years of tension that had since passed between them. With a quick bow, Francis let go of her hand and exited the room.

Mary tried to get her feelings back under control, telling herself that it was probably completely normal to kiss people's hands in European courts, and that maybe Francis acted this way around plenty of other girls, but still, she couldn't help grinning to herself as she headed up the stairs. She felt the same way that she had once felt back in the village near the Scottish castle, before the matchmaking show had started, when she'd walked past Bash and he'd grinned and winked at her. Back then, she never would have imagined that Francis Valois would have the power to make her feel the same way.

* * *

Mary's happy thoughts lasted for all of five minutes, up until she heard the unmistakable sound of Catherine's voice, coming from a room at the end of a second-floor corridor.

"My dear, there's still time…" Mary heard Catherine mutter. "My sources tell me things aren't going smoothly with the marriage negotiations. His head can still be turned…"

Mary stopped in her tracks. She frowned, trying to work out what this discussion was about. Trying to be as quiet as possible, Mary crept towards the door so she could hear better.

"I'm _sure_ Francis still has feelings for you," Mary heard Catherine whisper.

"I'm not so sure," she then heard a voice with a strong French accent that sounded very familiar respond to Catherine's words.

Taking a risk, Mary leaned her head around the door so she could peek into the room and confirm who Catherine was talking to.

Catherine was standing over on the other side of the room with her back to Mary, leaning over a large antique desk. On the desk stood a laptop computer, and Mary was disappointed but not surprised to see Olivia's face on the screen. It seemed she was on some sort of video call with Catherine.

"Nonsense," said Catherine dismissively with a wave of her hand, "a little scheming on my part, and a little effort on your part, and you could still be the Queen of France…"

Mary felt a twist of anger. She was sick of this. Sick of all the scheming and the politics. Sick of people trying to pull the strings in her life and sabotage her every move.

She was also struck by the very confusing and very frightening thought that Francis could _not_ marry Olivia. Mary didn't know _why_ exactly, but she could not allow it. Suddenly, she didn't like the thought of Francis marrying _any_ other woman, even though she didn't know where all of this was coming from. Perhaps she was just overwhelmed, and exhausted.

In a move that was either very brave or very stupid, Mary stepped right into the room. She leaned against the nearest wall and folded her arms. She glared right at Catherine's back, taking a twisted pleasure in the thought of Catherine turning around and seeing her standing there.

Then, Olivia said something that confused Mary even more…

"The morning after the attack, it was not me he called out for…"

Mary didn't have much time to ponder these strange words of Olivia's, because Catherine suddenly slammed the laptop shut, effectively cutting off Olivia's phone call, and then she turned around and looked right at Mary.

Apparently, she had sensed Mary's presence in the room all along. She had probably _wanted_ Mary to hear what she had said to Olivia.

Mary tried her hardest to hold her nerve and meet Catherine with an equal glare. Catherine was trying to intimidate her, and Mary knew she couldn't back down now.

"Oh, it's you," said Catherine in a sarcastic tone of voice that reminded Mary a little of Kenna. She sneered at Mary as she looked her up and down in obvious disapproval.

Mary tried to match her cold stare, while also trying not to look too afraid at being caught eavesdropping. "Why do you hate me so much?" she asked the queen as she shook her head in disgust.

Catherine sneered. "My dear Mary," she said in a patronising tone of voice, "this is not about love, or hate, or relationships. Surely even you know that."

Mary shook her head, trying to fight off her anger. "Then why are you _so_ against this alliance?" she asked, trying for a different angle. "Why would a match with Olivia be so much better?"

Catherine glared at her for a little while longer before she spoke. "A French noblewoman is a _far_ better option than a Scottish queen I cannot control. And especially a Scottish queen who sneaks around castles poking her nose into affairs that don't concern her, consorts with rebels and pretends to be falling in love with my son for the cameras while she meets with her _lover_ behind his back…"

Mary felt like her insides had frozen. It was suddenly difficult to breathe. There was no 'lover' in her life, but the way Catherine was looking at her-it was like she knew something; something she could use against her. Mary knew she had to say something to defend herself. Catherine was against the matchmaking show. She was conspiring to drive her away from Francis and to put Olivia in her place. She knew too much. Both Mary and her family could be at risk. "I have no idea what you're talking about," she replied, trying to sound nonchalant, but probably failing. Her words came out more like a snarl.

"Oh, really?" said Catherine. She opened the desk drawer and pulled out what appeared to be a pile of photographs. She slammed the photos down on the nearest coffee table, where Mary could see them.

Mary looked at each photograph, her eyes widening in horror. There was a photograph of Mary and Bash at the pub in Edinburgh, dancing and laughing together. And another photo of the two of them outside the hotel on the night of Greer's wedding, standing close together. There was even a photo of them slow-dancing together at the ball on the evening of the opening ceremony of the matchmaking show.

Looking at the photos without context, they did indeed look like a young couple who were flirting with each other behind the prince's back. _Had_ they been doing that all along? Mary felt as though the wooden ring around her neck was actually burning her skin.

This was very bad. Catherine could use all of this against her. Publish the photos to the world's media, make it look as though Mary had been having some sort of secret fling all along. She could jeopardise the television show, ruin everything that Mary's parents had been working towards. Catherine was dangerous, and Mary wouldn't put anything past her.

"I can be sneaky, just like you!" Catherine snapped at her, fury in her voice. "I have my own ways of spying on this process! I will do whatever it takes to protect _my_ country, and its future king!"

At Mary absorbed these words, another horrible realisation hit her. It was like several pieces of a twisted jigsaw puzzle were suddenly sliding into place in her mind. Her thoughts were back in the alleyway, outside the hotel in Edinburgh late at night. _"You are being watched…"_ the voice told her.

"He is a boy with secrets," Catherine snarled at her, temporarily pulling Mary out of her latest thoughts. She looked like she was struggling to keep herself under control as she pointed at a picture of Bash. "An affair with him would be your ruin!"

"Like you care," Mary muttered, not even trying to keep the hatred out of her voice. Deep down, a part of her knew that Catherine had a point about Bash-he definitely had some big secret that Mary didn't know about-but now was not the time to reveal this weakness to Catherine.

"You and I, we are so alike," said Catherine with a sigh, surprising Mary all over again.

"I am _nothing_ like you," Mary insisted.

"Oh, you'll see," said Catherine, cryptically.

Feeling overwhelmed by everything, Mary turned around and started to head out the door.

"My husband may feel like this matchmaking show will be beneficial to France, but I disagree," Catherine whispered to her retreating back. "I will _not_ be humiliated by Scotland."

Mary stopped in her tracks. Slowly, she turned around. She felt no fear anymore, only anger. It was like some sort of dark force had overtaken her body. Perhaps the pressure had finally got to her.

She took a few steps towards Catherine. "I will do whatever _I_ have to do to guard _my own_ happiness, and I will _not_ allow you, or anyone else in this castle to humiliate _my_ country. If all of that means my own ruin, then so be it," Mary told Catherine, her voice unwavering, even as her eyes filled with tears.

"You foolish girl," Catherine muttered as she shook her head, which only caused Mary's anger to heighten.

"And if you _ever_ send any of your 'spies' to watch me or to threaten me in dark alleyways again," Mary told her, pausing for a moment to allow her words to truly sink in, "I will ensure that your actions are exposed to the whole of Scotland, and I promise you that you will face the consequences."

With that, she turned back around and walked out of the room, not allowing Catherine another moment to get into her head.

* * *

By the time Mary arrived in her assigned room for the night, she felt like her head was spinning. What had Catherine really meant, about Bash being a boy with secrets? Did she know what those secrets were? Was she really going to use those photos as some sort of blackmail material? Why had Mary not insisted that there was no truth to those images? Had Mary been foolish, threatening to expose Catherine like that? Where had all of that even come from? Weeks ago, she'd just been a second-born princess, hating her title and sneaking out to the local village to catch glimpses of the handsome men there. When had she become so patriotic? So determined to protect Scotland from defeat, no matter what?

She could barely take in the elegance of the luxurious room, with its large, four-poster bed with golden sheets, and the spacious living room with expensive-looking furniture, as her mind was on other matters. All over again, she felt threatened, vulnerable. She felt like she was still being watched, even in this private room. She knew she couldn't afford to make anymore mistakes. Not here.

Mary tried to distract herself by sending a few messages to her mother and brother to update them on the trip to France so far, deliberately leaving out her discussion with Catherine from her messages, and then she opened up her luggage that had already been brought up to her room in advance and changed into her pyjamas, trying not to think too much about all of her current problems as she got ready for bed.

For the next half an hour, Mary tossed and turned in the bed. She couldn't sleep; she couldn't even get comfortable. She kept thinking about everything that had happened recently-her mother's illness and her brother's upcoming wedding and how Kenna had sobbed that James didn't love her. Then she thought about her arrival in France, and how Catherine and Henry had looked at her with such hatred, and how she was going to be travelling to Paris tomorrow with Francis for what might be a date.

Eventually, with a sigh, she pushed the covers one side and got out of bed.

Trying to be as quiet as possible, Mary found a pair of slippers in the wardrobe and slipped them onto her feet. She looked in her suitcase for something warm to wear over her pyjamas. She was only able to find an old cardigan, so she slipped it over her shoulders.

Then, Mary opened the bedroom door, slowly and carefully, hoping that nobody could hear it creak.

* * *

She stepped out into the corridor, deciding to take a walk around the castle for a little while, in the way that she always crept around the castle at night back in Scotland whenever she couldn't sleep. Her insomnia had definitely become more of an issue since the attack two years ago, but for the past few nights, she'd also been disturbed by images of masked figures warning her that she was being watched whenever she closed her eyes.

Mary crept up and down the dark corridors, not really going anywhere in particular or paying much attention to her surroundings. The whole castle was silent. It seemed that there were no secrets to be overheard just yet.

She was just thinking about turning around and heading back to her room when she noticed a large window overlooking the gardens below. A few comfortable-looking chairs had been placed just opposite the window.

With a yawn, Mary decided to sit down and rest, just for a few moments, and maybe take in the view from the window as she tried to gather her thoughts.

Slowly, she sat down, and then she stared at her reflection in the glass of the window for a little while.

Mary was so lost in her thoughts that she didn't hear anyone approach. It was therefore something of a shock when she heard Francis's voice…

"Mary?" he said, sounding very confused.

Mary jumped and looked to her left to see Francis, dressed only in black sweatpants and a white T-shirt, with his hair looking ruffled and a sleepy expression on his face.

"Francis," said Mary, shocked. She wasn't sure what she was supposed to do or say. She couldn't get over the fact that the future king of France was standing in front of her, wearing his pyjamas. Then she realised that _she_ was also only wearing pyjamas, and Francis was looking right at her. Mary had to fight off a blush.

"You couldn't sleep?" Francis asked her, his tone of voice sounding soft, concerned.

Slowly, Mary shook her head.

"Me neither," he shrugged, looking a little embarrassed.

"Just tonight, or often?" Mary took a chance on asking him, even though she wasn't sure if that was too personal a question to ask. She couldn't help thinking that Francis wandered these corridors a lot at night, unable to sleep. She never would have believed it, until this moment when she'd seen it for herself.

Luckily, Francis didn't seem to be offended. He simply said, "Often, Mary," in response to her question as he brushed a stray strand of hair out of his eyes. "I'll leave you alone," he added with a polite bow.

"No, wait!" Mary called out to him in a loud whisper, surprising even herself. "You can sit here, if you wish," she added, when Francis turned back around and raised his eyebrows at her.

Mary had a feeling that this was the place where Francis usually headed when he was struggling to sleep, and it seemed wrong not to let him sit here tonight.

"I wouldn't want to throw you out of your usual seat," she offered as a way of an explanation.

Still looking a little surprised, and dubious, Francis took a seat next to her.

They sat in silence for a little while, both of them staring out of the window. Mary thought about how her mother would probably be angry that she had abandoned all royal protocol to sit next to a future king while the two of them wore pyjamas. She would almost have laughed about it, in other circumstances.

In the end, Francis broke the silence: "Mary, if I ask you something, will you answer honestly?"

Feeling a little nervous, Mary turned to look at him. There was a look of vulnerability on his face that Mary had not noticed before.

"I'll try," she told him, deciding that this was about as honest an answer as she could give him. She was already dreading all the possible questions he could ask her. She had too many secrets.

Francis seemed satisfied with this answer. He nodded before he continued: "Are you struggling to sleep because it's your first night in France? Or is this a recurring problem?"

Mary breathed a sigh of relief. It was not as bad a question as she had thought it would be, and there was genuine concern in Francis's eyes. Still, her answer would carry weight…

"I have struggled for a long time," she said, "but it got worse two years ago, after…"

She felt her whole body tense up again as she remembered that terrible night two years ago.

Luckily, Francis simply nodded, and he didn't push her further. There was understanding in his eyes as he looked at her, then he looked away, like he'd only just realised he was staring.

"You can ask me something now, if you want," Francis told her with a smile. "Anything you want."

Mary watched him in surprise for a little while. She was still getting used to Francis smiling and joking around and being affectionate with her. She would never have imagined that he would have been like this, before she arrived in his home country.

Then Mary remembered that he was offering her another question, in exchange for answering his, as part of the agreement they'd made on the private jet to try to be more honest with one another.

"I have already asked you several questions today," Mary told him seriously. "If you answer anymore, I will be in your debt." She'd meant it as a joke, but she shuddered as she thought about how close to home a comment like that was-she was already fairly certain that Scotland was in some kind of debt to France.

Francis seemed to notice the troubled look on her face. "Perhaps we should agree not to keep count, then?" he suggested with another smile.

In spite of all her turbulent thoughts, Mary couldn't help smiling back.

She nodded and paused for a moment to think about what she wanted to ask…

Another question for Francis, one that he had promised to give an honest answer to. The possibilities were endless. She could practically hear the bossy voices of her mother and Kenna and Lola in her head, urging her to take advantage of this opportunity. But then one particular nagging question came into her mind, and she couldn't let it go…

"Why do you not dance with me, at balls or at parties in the castle?" Mary asked him. She felt a bit silly for asking something like that, and she knew that her friends would tell her she had wasted her opportunity, but she couldn't help thinking about the ball, and how Francis had danced with Lola for most of the night, and how he hadn't asked _her_ to dance.

Francis's eyes widened, and Mary could tell that he was surprised by her choice of question.

"I was always under the impression that you wouldn't want to dance with me," he answered her with a very un-prince-like-shrug, which Mary thought was sort of cute.

"But you'll never know, unless you ask," Mary told him, surprising herself with her boldness.

"I'll bear that in mind," said Francis, with another smile.

After that, they fell back into silence for a little while, until Francis's expression grew serious again. Mary studied his face-it looked like there was so much pain hidden just underneath the surface.

"Mary," he muttered, "I know you hate it when I try to give you advice, but we've promised to be honest with each other, and I think you should know-my father is not treating this matchmaking show as light entertainment; he has reasons and motivations for pushing for this alliance; he has found out secrets about your family that he could hold against you…"

Mary felt a pain in her chest that she was sure matched the look of pain on Francis's face. What did the king know about her family? Had he used some sort of threat or blackmail against Mary's parents? It was bad enough that Catherine already had blackmail material against Mary.

"He would be furious if he knew I'd told you this, but I believe you deserve to know, so you can make an informed decision," Francis continued. "If you're serious about continuing with this show, I think you should try to find out exactly what he knows…"

After a long, heavy silence, Mary nodded. As painful as the news was to hear, she knew that Francis was trying to give her a warning; he was trying to protect her, and putting himself at risk by doing so.

She stared out the window, looking up at the moon which shone brightly in the sky.

Finally, she reached a decision. Before she headed to Paris in the morning, she was going to have to find out what the king was up to...


	14. Chapter 14

Mary's room in the French castle might have been luxurious, but she struggled to sleep on the first night of her stay.

As she tossed and turned in her bed, she kept thinking about all the recent events that had taken place-her conversation with Francis in the middle of the night, her argument with Catherine, the overheard conversation with Olivia...

Then, just when she started to drift off, she continued to worry about all the upcoming events that she would soon have to face-her inevitable confrontation with the king, her visit to Paris with Francis…

She also couldn't help thinking about her home in Scotland and all the problems that would be waiting for her there-James and Kenna's wedding, her mother's illness, Narcisse's possible plotting…

* * *

It was no surprise to Mary that she felt a little groggy at breakfast the next morning. She tried her best to smile over at Francis whenever she caught his eye, as he seemed to be full of enthusiasm about the day ahead and the visit to Paris, but still she couldn't help sighing to herself in between bites of her croissant.

It didn't help matters when she noticed the king swaggering into the dining room, an unpleasant glint in his eye as he looked rather pleased with himself about something.

Mary felt her whole body tense up when he walked in her direction and he stopped right behind her seat.

"Nice work," he told her in a deadly whisper as soon as he was stood close enough for her to hear him.

Mary could tell from his sarcastic tone of voice that he was mocking her.

Discreetly, he placed a folded-up piece of paper on the table in front of her.

As he walked away with a smirk on his face, Mary opened up the piece of paper. It was some sort of online news article, which the king had taken the 'trouble' of printing out. There was a picture of Mary that had been taken yesterday, when she'd just arrived at the castle and she'd been giving a speech on the castle steps.

 _The Speech of a Rebel?_ the headline asked its readers.

Mary sighed. It seemed like the words of her speech yesterday had already been misinterpreted.

The king didn't stay in the dining room for long. As he left the room, Mary glared at his retreating back, feeling a rush of fury as she scrunched up the piece of paper in her hand.

In that moment, Mary made a decision. She would have to find out what he was up to. Now, before she left for Paris.

She spoke briefly with Francis, promising him that she would meet him in a couple of hours at the allotted time and place so they could make the journey to Paris, then she headed out of the dining room alone.

* * *

Mary stormed across the castle's entrance hall, barely containing her fury.

She was so sick of the way the king spoke to her and looked down on her. She couldn't stand the thought that he was manipulating her mother, her country.

She could barely think straight, but her memory seemed to guide her through the corridors and in the direction of the king's office.

* * *

Finally, Mary arrived outside the king's door. Without knocking or waiting, she threw the door open and took determined strides into the room.

The king was sitting at his desk, surrounded by a group of men who were wearing formal suits. It seemed like he'd been having some sort of meeting. He jumped as the door crashed open and he looked up at Mary with a look of mingled horror and fury.

Mary didn't care. " _How_ did you manipulate my family into this matchmaking show?" she demanded of him.

"How dare you speak to me like that?" he snarled at her. "Get out, I'm in the middle of a meeting!" he waved his hand, like she was of no consequence to him.

The men in the room all watched her with curious expressions. Perhaps they were not used to hearing young women scream at their king.

One man in particular seemed to be watching her with what seemed like a look of fascination. Mary couldn't help noticing that he was rather handsome, with short, dark brown hair, a neatly trimmed beard and dark brown eyes.

"Well," Mary snarled back at Henry as she focused her full attention on him again. She was determined that he would not throw her out of the room. "Perhaps your colleagues would like to stay and hear all about how you have lied, threatened and blackmailed _my_ country and my family into taking part in a television show and an arranged marriage…"

The king looked livid, and Mary knew that she was playing a dangerous game. Her words and accusations would have consequences. It was not just her own safety at stake, but her whole family's. But she didn't have many cards left to play, and she was fast running out of options for discovering the truth.

The king sneered at her, but there was a brief flicker of fear in his eyes. It seemed that Mary had struck a nerve-it was unlikely that he would want any of these important-looking men to overhear any rumours about his wrongdoings. Perhaps they would be powerful enough to use the information against him.

"Conde," the king muttered in a low tone, nodding in the direction of the man who Mary had just been staring at, "leave us. I'll meet with you and your colleagues in half an hour…" It sounded like he could barely keep his voice under control.

With obedient nods, the men all started to head out of the room. Mary noticed that Conde looked back at her with a curious expression on his face as he left the room. Mary felt a little self-conscious. She wondered what was so interesting about her that it would cause him to take a risk by walking so slowly out of the office.

"How dare you!" the king repeated, the moment the men had gone. "You know I could have you thrown in jail on the evidence of your past behaviour alone, and still you continue to provoke me. That's right," he continued with a snarl, apparently picking up on the look of horror on Mary's face. "You were there the night of the attack, we all know it. Dancing in the middle of the dance floor, hands risen in the gesture of the rebels, no less. Sharing a few grins with Narcisse as an added bonus, who was later questioned about the attack…It would be all too easy to build up a case against you…"

 _Ignore him. Ignore him_ Mary chanted silently to herself. _He's bluffing. Don't give him the reaction he wants…_ Even as she said these words to herself, a part of her didn't believe them. She knew what the king was capable of. No doubt the king had planted these thoughts in Queen Marie's head, too, as yet another 'bargaining tool'.

"Tell me what dirt you have on Scotland," Mary commanded him.

"Or what, little girl?" he spat back at her. "What could you _possibly_ do that would be of _any_ threat to me?"

Mary's hands were shaking, but she tried to keep her voice level. "I will withdraw from this show, this matchmaking process," she told him.

The king sneered. "And how would you do that? Your parents wouldn't allow it."

He was goading her now, Mary knew it. Calling her a coward, telling her she had no real power, to see how easily she would back down.

Silently, Mary went over her options. She could threaten to run away, like she had told her mother that she would do, but there was always the possibility that the royal families would find her and order her back to the castle, and force her to continue with the show.

When she really thought about it, the only way she could truly escape from the show would be to marry somebody else…

"I will marry Sebastian," Mary told the king with a sneer, keeping her own voice low, deadly. She couldn't believe that she hadn't thought of using this threat against Henry and Catherine before.

"Sebastian, who you shared a dance with at the opening ball?" said the king with a mocking smirk. "You really expect me to believe that the two of you are planning to be wed?"

Suddenly, an idea struck Mary. It seemed that the gift Bash had given her before she left Scotland would come in useful after all, although perhaps not in the way that Bash would have planned. Making sure to keep her head held high and maintain eye contact with the king, Mary pulled out the black ribbon from under the collar of her shirt. She held up the wooden ring to the king.

The king's eyes widened as he stared at the ring. There was a fleeting look of recognition on his face, and Mary wondered what is was about the ring that had unnerved him.

"An arrangement has already been made," said Mary, trying her best to sound convincing. "Bash has already given me this ring. If I am not satisfied that you are co-operating with Scotland, Bash and I could be away from the Scottish castle in a matter of hours. I know Scotland much better than you do," Mary insisted, before the king could cut her off with what would probably be another threat, "you would never find me in time. And then Bash and I would be married, in secret, and you would lose your family's claim to the Scottish throne..."

Mary knew that there was a cruelty to all this, in threatening to marry Bash and defy the royal family, especially after Francis had been so kind to her lately, but still Mary felt a twisted sense of satisfaction at being able to blackmail the king, in taking back some sort of control over the situation.

"You can ask your wife for further evidence of the match, if you wish, if you do not believe that there is a possibility of us getting married," Mary added, just to twist the knife further, "it seems she has some rather incriminating photos of Bash and I together…"

A part of her felt a twisted pleasure at the idea of being able to use Catherine's blackmail material against her. But then she felt another unpleasant twist in her stomach as she recalled Catherine's words from last night…

" _You and I, we are so alike…"_ Catherine had told her.

The king's look was positively murderous. Mary suspected he might only be seconds away from upturning the table or throwing things around the room, and yet she felt no fear. All she could feel was anger.

"You're a fool," said Henry, as he jumped up from his chair and gripped the end of his desk. "You would really throw away your country's chance of security, your family's chance of protection, for the sake of marrying a commoner with no fortune?"

'I will do whatever it takes to protect my country!" said Mary, as she slammed her fist down on the desk. "If that means forcibly removing Scotland from France's influence, then so be it!"

Mary almost shocked herself at her own words. She didn't know where this anger, or this fierce sense of pride and patriotism had come from. Normally, it was James who embodied all these values. She wasn't sure what had changed, or when _she_ had changed.

"I will not continue with this process until France's true intentions are laid out on the table. You might all be angry by a marriage with Bash, but what could be done after the event has taken place? It would be too late. So, I'm asking you again," she said, "how did you bully my country into this royal match?"

The king sighed and sat back down in his seat. The look he gave Mary was one of pure hatred. "Your country is in a lot of debt," he finally told her with a sneer. Apparently, he was not prepared to take a risk on Mary marrying Bash. "It seems the Scottish royals have little money left in their funds, and your mother is feuding with the Scottish government; they need money from somewhere-"

"Scotland will have a source of income from England," Mary insisted, as she tried to think on her feet. "Kenna is from a powerful English family, and when James and Kenna are married, they will form a strong alliance between England and Scotland-"

"Ah," said the king with a mocking sigh, "it seems the situation is more complicated than you realise. Has your mother not told you the truth about your brother?"

Mary frowned, and the king smirked.

"Your brother has debts and diplomatic issues of his own. It seems he has turned to various addictions to cope with the pressures of training to rule a country. His gambling debts are particularly high. You see, he often came to France to indulge in his vices. He must have believed that he would be safely hidden away from Scottish eyes over here. But nobody can hide from _me_ in this country…"

"No," Mary whispered, shaking her head. It could not be true. Not James…James, who was so noble, so well-behaved; James who always followed the rules; James who was going to be king; James who always put his duty before his own happiness…"

"Yes," said the king, his tone of voice firm, that glint of malice back in his eyes.

He was enjoying this, Mary realised. He must have known how much she'd idolised her older brother when they were children. And now he was taking a twisted pleasure in tearing him down, shattering all of Mary's illusions. "He had a whole string of lovers over here, too, you know; he left a trail of broken-hearted women in his wake. Your friend Kenna is foolish if she _ever_ believed he would be faithful to her."

"No," Mary repeated, like the word could make all of this go away.

Deep down, she suspected that the king was telling the truth. She had never found out where James had been, on the night of the attack-he had always refused to tell her. But he had been out of bed, dressed smartly, sneaking around just like her that night. He must have been out _somewhere_ when he received the call from Catherine about the attack-perhaps out drinking and gambling.

James had always been rather vague and mysterious about where he was travelling to over the years-Mary had assumed that he had gone to France so often on royal duty, but it seemed she had been mistaken. When she thought about it, James told her very little about his life outside the Scottish castle.

"Rumour has it," the king continued with a nasty smirk, "that not too long ago, he _begged_ your mother to remove him from the line of succession. He didn't want the job as king, Mary," the king went on, speaking slowly, like Mary was an idiot, as Mary continued to shake her head, in denial. "But perhaps your mother decided that there was no…viable alternative." He looked at Mary in disgust. "Either way, he was forced to continue with the role, and to enter into an arranged marriage to smooth things over. Do you have any idea how much information I could use against him? How _weak_ he will look as king?"

Mary's hands were shaking. Her heart was beating fast, and tears were threatening to spill over. She couldn't process all this-had James really begged their mother not to be king? Did he not want the role? Had her mother forced James to remain in the role, against his wishes?

She also couldn't help feeling a little hurt, and disappointed. Why had James not confided in her about all his doubts and his worries? Perhaps she could have helped him, or at least been there for her brother during his most difficult times. Did he not trust her? Why had her mother never told her about any of this? Did her family truly believe that Mary would not have been a 'viable alternative' as queen, in the same way that the King of France seemed to believe it? Mary wasn't even sure why this thought hurt her so much, but it did.

But she couldn't break down-not here, not now. The king almost had her in checkmate, but still she had to stay in the game somehow. For some strange reason, she thought of Narcisse. Narcisse would want her to keep playing, no matter what, even if she had to cheat a little.

"I will not let you get to Scotland through my brother," she said, lifting her gaze from the floor, "I will ensure that England helps to pay James's debts; I will also advise Kenna that she is _not_ to allow any of her future children to enter into marriage contracts with your youngest sons," she added, as another part of the king's plan suddenly came together in her mind. "I could even appoint Narcisse as _their_ advisor, if it becomes necessary," she added with a glare. "He will dig up dirt on _you_ long before you get to James!"

Mary could only hope that her threats were believable; that they would carry some weight with the king. The king obviously had plenty of secrets of his own to hide, after all. Mary knew that she would not be above exposing several of his affairs, if it became necessary, and Narcisse, who had a grudge to settle with the king on behalf of his son, would be all too happy to help.

The king seemed to be considering her. Mary couldn't work out if he saw her as a genuine threat just yet.

"You need Scotland," Mary prompted him.

"I _want_ Scotland," he corrected her. "There is a difference. Scotland _needs_ France."

 _I will ensure that we don't need you…_ Mary said to herself.

"You want the power that ruling another country would bring," Mary guessed. Deep down, she had known this all along. The king wanted Scotland for his own family, and he was prepared to go to any lengths to get it.

The king simply nodded.

"You blackmailed my parents with your knowledge of my whereabouts on the night of the attack, and my brother's debts," she added, as she put all the pieces together.

Again, the king nodded. He actually looked proud of himself.

"And you threw in the promise of extra money to seal the deal," said Mary.

"Don't forget the promise of extra security," the king cut in. "In case you haven't noticed, your country faces the threat of an attack on a daily basis. It is only a matter of time before a serious incident happens…"

Mary felt a cold chill rush through her body. She could only hope that he wasn't speaking the truth.

"I'm not sure I approve of your 'security methods'," said Mary.

"Your opinions on how I run my country are nothing to me," said Henry. "Your mother will certainly not disapprove when French security guards are protecting you all."

"My opinions _will_ mean something to you, if I prevent you from getting a foothold in Scotland," Mary shot back at him.

She could tell that he was considering her, trying to work out if she really did have any power to stop him.

"You're planning on using Francis and I, and James and Kenna, as your puppets, aren't you?" Mary demanded of him with folded arms.

The king said nothing. Of course, he would not admit to this. He could not fully incriminate himself.

"How could you _ever_ believe that Francis would go along with any of this?" Mary asked him in disbelief. She knew that Francis could be a little distant sometimes, but deep down, Mary knew that he was not cruel. He was not his father.

"Because," said the king, like he was talking to a five-year-old, "through this marriage, Francis will get everything he has ever wanted-everything he never thought he would have!"

"And what is that?" Mary snapped at him. A part of her was dreading that the king would say something about money, and extra power, and another country to rule over, one day-perhaps Francis was just as 'ambitious' as his father.

But nothing could have prepared Mary for the answer that the king gave…

"He will get to be married to the girl he loves!" the king snapped at her, his voice full of hatred, even as he talked about love. "It is a luxury that hardly any kings could boast of! How could he ever refuse? How would the marriage ever have happened, in other circumstances? Even the _possibility_ of seeing you again was enough to get him on that plane to Scotland!"

Mary felt like she had been frozen to the spot. She felt like all the air had been stolen from her lungs. She couldn't breathe. The room seemed to be spinning around.

What had the king just said?

It could not be true.

"F-Francis is not in love with me," Mary finally managed to stammer out.

It was impossible. Sometimes, it seemed like he didn't even _like_ her that much.

"Do you _really_ think I would make something like that up?" said Henry with a disgusted shake of his head. "Do you think I would _want_ it to be true? You have been _nothing_ but a burden to my country. Luckily for you, Francis's love for you has finally made you useful to me."

Mary shook her head again, unable to speak. She knew she should be angry, but she could barely focus. Of all the information she'd discovered over the past few minutes, this revelation had shocked her the most.

Surely Francis wasn't in love with her?

Before the show got started, Francis had barely looked at her for years. He'd had girlfriends, other close friendships…how could Mary have ever crossed his mind, during all those years they were apart?

How could it possibly be true?

But then, why would the king lie about his son's feelings? He had just made it very clear that he had never approved of how Francis felt.

Yet if it was true, then it meant that Francis had been in love with her all along, even before the show started. She felt like her whole world had tilted yet again.

And still the king continued to ask sarcastic questions about when she was planning on leaving his office, as though he hadn't just changed Mary's whole world with his revelation. It was almost like he assumed that Mary had already known this all along.

"Perhaps we can co-operate, somehow," Mary managed to get out through gritted teeth. " _If_ I decide to continue with this process. I will draw out a list of terms that I am prepared to negotiate with you and your family if you are to have any chance of making an alliance with Scotland-"

"Then I will do the same for you," the king interrupted her ."I will meet all of your demands with demands of my own, and I have been playing this game for a lot longer than you have, _Your Majesty._ I am warning you, one of my terms of 'negotiation' will involve you sacking your Publicist."

Deciding not to get into that debate right now, Mary turned to leave.

She had all the information she needed. It was up to her now what she did with it. She knew what the king was capable of. Now she knew his plans for Scotland, she was going to wait and see if there was any way she could tolerate working with him. Perhaps she could find some way to minimise the threat of the French royal family's influence in Scotland.

Right now, she had too much on her mind to think clearly. She thought about everything she'd just found out about James; about _Francis_. She still felt her head was spinning. And now she had to go to Paris, with Francis, and act like she knew nothing about all the king's under-handed dealings.

 _Francis_.

She should be worrying about James, and yet she couldn't stop thinking about him, and about what his father had just said.

Was he really in love with her? Was there a way she could find out? Why did she care so much? Would it change things if he was?

"Oh, and princess?" Mary heard the king call out to her just as she headed out the door.

Mary stopped and turned around to look at him.

"Regardless of whether you marry Francis, or Sebastian, you will still be marrying one of _my_ sons."

With that, he smirked and got up from his seat so that he could slam the door in Mary's face.

Mary stood outside the closed door, feeling more confused than ever.


	15. Chapter 15

_***Notes: This chapter as not as long as I would have liked, as this month has been so busy. I wanted to post something however, so as not to leave it too long between updates. The visit to Paris and a moment that happens between Francis and Mary when they return from Paris will be posted in the next chapter._

* * *

Mary ran away from the king's office as fast as her legs could carry her.

Her thoughts swam rapidly around in her head, each one more confusing than the other, and she felt like there was a heavy weight in her chest, restricting her breathing. But still she had to move; she had to keep going.

As she passed through the hallway by the main offices, Mary caught sight of Catherine, who was leaning against the wall, regarding Mary with an unreadable expression.

When Mary caught her eye, she clapped her hands slowly, in a way that could either be admiring or sarcastic. She had clearly been listening in on Mary's conversation with Henry. Mary didn't have time to interpret Catherine's reaction to her argument with the king. She shook her head and kept going, heading for the nearest staircase.

She took the stairs two at a time. She had to get ready for the visit to Paris. She knew that there was a team of people waiting for her in one of the spare rooms; they were all supposed to help her choose her outfit and assist her with her hair and makeup so she could head outside and meet Francis and pose for a few photographs before they headed off on their journey together.

* * *

Finally, she arrived in the correct part of the castle.

Before she entered the makeshift dressing room, Mary stopped in the corridor and leaned against the left-hand wall. She closed her eyes and took a few deep breaths, trying to regain her composure as she tried _not_ to think about everything that the king had just said.

She had to calm down, or Francis would know that something was wrong, and the cameras would pick up on it, and other people in the castle would start to ask questions…

She breathed in, and out. Her heartbeat was starting to return to its normal rate…

"Who has the key to your heart?"

At the sound of a man's voice in the corridor, Mary jumped and quickly opened her eyes.

She turned her head a little and noticed a man dressed in a smart suit walking towards her. Instantly, she recognised him as one of the men who had been in the king's office when Mary had first barged in.

Mary frowned at him, confused by his question.

He walked a little closer to her and nodded pointedly at the black ribbon around Mary's neck.

Mary looked down and realised that her homemade necklace was sticking out of her shirt collar-it must have fallen out while Mary was storming around the castle. The key was now visible for all to see, hanging around Mary's neck. Hurriedly, Mary tried to tuck it back in. She did not want that key to be visible just yet.

"Louis Conde," the man introduced himself, before Mary could say anything in response.

He opened his hand to her, and Mary shook it. His hand was not too warm, or too cold; his grip on her hand was somehow both firm and gentle; it was almost comforting.

Mary told him her name in return, although she had a feeling by the look on his face that he already knew exactly who she was; she had a feeling that he had deliberately come here to find her.

"That was quite an impressive show of power against the King of France," he told her with a warm smile. He looked genuinely impressed.

"Sometimes these kings need to learn the value of truth and honesty," Mary told him with a serious expression, trying to be cryptic. She wasn't exactly sure yet whose side Conde was on. She also wasn't sure if _she_ was truly the person to be preaching the values of honesty.

"Are you a regular visitor to the castle?" Mary asked him, trying to find out a little more about this man.

"I come here on diplomatic visits every so often," he told her, his expression more serious now. "I recently bought an apartment in Paris to use on work trips-my work isn't my entire life, and the visits to the castle are a perfect excuse to spend some time in France…"

Mary looked up at him with what she knew was a look of envy. She couldn't even imagine what it would be like, to own an apartment in Paris, and to take holidays in the capital whenever it suited her-Conde could spent time there, anonymously, taking in the sights, having fun…

He seemed to interpret her look of envy as a look of confusion, because he continued to explain…"I work in politics, in London," he said, "my main home is there, in the city, not too far from Westminster, although I enjoy spending time in Paris, too-my family's originally from France."

"You have a home in London?" Mary asked him. Again, her feeling of envy returned. She had always dreamed of living in London, in a real home of her own.

Conde seemed to study her expression for a moment. He must have picked up on something in her eyes, because he took out his phone and held it out to her. He had pulled up a photo of his home.

Mary stared at the picture displayed on his phone screen, transfixed. She blinked a couple of times in shock. Conde's home looked just like a real-life version of the doll's house in her room back in Scotland. It was a Victorian style house, in a beautiful shade of light blue. Mary could almost imagine a happy family inside, going about their day, oblivious to all the dramas of the outside world.

"Perhaps you should visit London soon," said Conde, lowering his voice as he placed his phone back in his pocket. "For political reasons, of course," he quickly added with a half-smile, as though the two of them were in on some sort of private joke.

Mary frowned at him.

"Rumour has it that the royals think it would help with diplomatic issues, if you could ease the rift between the English and Scottish Parliaments…"

Mary had a strange feeling that this was not the real reason why Conde wanted her to visit London, but she could not say this out loud. "Of course," she replied with a nod. "I was planning on a visit to talk with the Prime Minister soon." Perhaps she really could turn it into a diplomatic mission, and make it seem like it had been her idea all along. "I shall probably go with Francis," she added, quickly, feeling like she should say this, for some reason.

As she mentioned Francis's name, she was reminded all over again of her conversation with the king. Had there been any truth to his words? Was there a way that Mary could find out how Francis felt? Should she ask him? Quickly, she shook her head, trying to clear it of these thoughts for the moment.

"I hope to see you there," Conde told her with another smile, although his smile seemed a little forced now. He didn't seem thrilled at the idea of Mary visiting London with Francis.

"Perhaps you will," said Mary, as she continued to stare at him curiously. "You have a very beautiful home," she added.

"Thank you," said Conde with a polite nod of his head. "Although, I'm sure it would be a lot nicer if I had someone to share it with…"

Before Mary could say anything else, he bowed and started to walk away down the corridor; he probably had to attend his postponed meeting with the king.

Mary watched him walk away, lost in her own thoughts. Louis Conde worked in politics. He lived in Mary's 'dream home' in London. He regularly went on holiday to Paris. He did not make his work a priority over his personal life. He was handsome. He seemed kind, and intelligent.

He was just the sort of man who she would have chosen for herself on the matchmaking show.

Mary felt more confused than ever. The corridor felt too warm, all of a sudden. She had to get out-Francis would be waiting for her outside soon.

* * *

Francis stood in front of the mirror in his bedroom. He reached up to adjust his shirt collar and realised, to his utter embarrassment, that his hands were shaking.

A few of his stylists offered yet again to help him get ready, but Francis waved them off. He did not want to be a king today. He wanted to pretend to be a normal young man who was about to go out on a date with a beautiful woman. He wanted to be himself, without advisors telling him what to do and how to act.

Was this a date? Francis wasn't sure.

He didn't know how all of this worked. With Olivia, things had been simpler. They'd been introduced by various nobles at a royal ball, and things had gone from there. Their match had been approved of; everything had been organised for them, and the other royals and nobles turned a blind eye whenever the two of them snuck away down dark corridors at various fancy parties.

With Mary, Francis felt completely out of his depth. He had changed outfits several times this morning, discarding every option, and he'd tried and failed to fix his hair, and his hands were _still_ shaking. Oh, how his subjects would laugh, if they could see him now! He would look so… _weak_. His father would be furious. His father was always furious, when it came to Francis's feelings for Mary.

He thought again about Mary. What would he say to her, when the two of them first stepped outside the castle and they began their journey together?

Then another thought occurred to him: Had Mary spoken to his father this morning? Had she worked out the twisted game he was playing? Would she still want to continue with the show, after she found out what he was up to?

Francis's frantic thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the door opening. His mother walked gracefully into the room, not taking her eyes off Francis as she folded her arms and leaned against the nearest wall. She was as elegant as ever, wearing a long, royal blue dress and her hair styled neatly in a bun.

Francis sighed as she continued to stare at him with an expression of obvious disapproval. He considered making a sarcastic comment about knocking on doors before entering rooms, but he decided against it. His mother wouldn't listen-she had no concept of privacy.

"Yes, Mother?" Francis asked her as he continued to adjust his black shirt. He knew that she was waiting for him to start the conversation, so she could share whatever gossip she was clearly desperate to tell him.

"Conde was talking to Mary in the upstairs corridor a few moments ago," the queen told him, her tone sharp, business-like. "She seemed to be rather taken by him."

Francis felt a sharp twist right in his gut at his mother's words. He struggled to keep his expression neutral. "And?" Francis asked her, still refusing to look away from the mirror. He knew that there would be an _I-told-you-so_ expression written all over his mother's face. "Mary is allowed to talk to whoever she wants."

The queen rolled her eyes, as though Francis were a child who just couldn't see the bigger picture. "Her heart is not fully in this matchmaking show," his mother told him, her expression grave. "She is considering other possibilities. My dear boy, you must consider the humiliation you will face if she were to reject you for another man at the end of the show. We need to keep the upper hand over our rivals. The last thing I want is to see you, or this country, publicly disgraced…"

Francis felt a twist of anger, along with the pain.

"And even if she picks you, you can't rule out the possibility that she will marry you entirely for political reasons while she continues to take other lovers behind your back. Is that the life you want to live, Francis?"

Francis felt another tug of pain. It was like somebody was twisting a knife inside him. For as long as Francis could remember, his father had had mistresses, while his mother had taken lovers as revenge for her husband's infidelity. The thought of living that kind of life was unbearable-Francis had always privately vowed that he would marry for love, and that he would never have mistresses. He would not be like his father. Would Mary really go through with a wedding, purely for political reasons, without truly loving him?

Francis turned to look at his mother. Her face was expressionless, giving nothing away.

He frowned, suddenly feeling a little suspicious. Was this all just some twisted game his mother was playing?

"Why do you hate Mary so much?" he asked her, trying to keep the anger out of his voice. Perhaps a part of him was curious to know where this animosity had come from. He couldn't see how _anyone_ could hate Mary, although perhaps he was a little biased. _"_ _Blinded by love_ _!"_ as his father would say.

"Francis," his mother sighed, "I don't hate Mary; I _adored_ her, when the two of you were children and she spent every summer here, at the castle. And her behaviour this morning was almost admirable."

"Then what is all this about?" Francis asked her, still feeling confused. He had no idea what Mary had done this morning to earn the queen's admiration.

Again, his mother sighed. "This is about _politics_ ," she told him. "Love and hate don't even come into it. You have been preparing to be a king since you were born; you have the potential to be a _wonderful_ king…a marriage with that girl and an alliance with Scotland could put all of that at risk. She is a distraction to you, Francis, and the last thing a king needs is a distraction."

For a moment, her expression darkened, and Francis suspected that she was thinking about all of her husband's 'distractions'.

"Are you saying you think I should walk away from the matchmaking show?" he asked his mother.

For a moment, a tense silence seemed to pass between the two of them.

"All I'm saying," the queen finally responded, "is that _you_ should consider _other options_ , in case Mary decides that _she_ wants to take another option…"

With one last significant look in his direction, the queen walked slowly out of the room. The sound of the door closing seemed to echo all around the room.

* * *

Francis continued getting ready, but he was lost in his thoughts. His mother's words seemed to echo in his mind….

His mother believed that Mary was looking at other options; she believed that her heart was not fully in the show and the matchmaking process; his mother thought that Francis should consider other options, too, just in case…

 _Other options…_

Francis knew exactly what that meant.

It would be so much easier, to marry a different woman; to remove himself from the daily humiliation of having to play up to the cameras for a television show; he could enter into a political match, with a woman who his mother approved of; he could save France from a diplomatic crisis; he could save himself from so much pain and heartache.

He pictured a woman with long, blonde hair, standing next to him on all of his royal visits around the country, with all of the old French noble families on their side, nodding in approval as they both signed official documents that ensured protection for France. A woman like that had been his girlfriend once; she would probably agree to be his wife, if her own future and a life of luxury were secured as a result.

Then, surprisingly, for the first time ever, he pictured another woman, with long, brown curls. With her, he could still ensure some kind of diplomacy with Scotland, maybe even an alliance with England. Perhaps more importantly, he could limit Narcisse's influence for a little while...She would be his friend, at least.

The heat in the room suddenly felt unbearable. Almost without thinking about it, Francis walked in the direction of the window. He reached forward, intending to open it so that he could get some fresh air.

Then he saw her.

Mary was outside, standing on the grass a few feet away from one of the castle doors.

She was dressed casually, in black trousers and a white jumper.

Francis's younger brother, Charles, ran towards her, and the two of them started to play a game, both of them laughing together. Mary took hold of Charles's hands, and then they were going around in circles, spinning each other around.

Francis simply looked out the window and watched as Mary continued to spin around, her hair flowing loosely around her. She looked beautiful. It was like watching everything he had ever wanted, everything he had ever dreamed of...It was almost as though fate were taunting him with a life that he had never been allowed to have.

Suddenly, Mary looked up.

Before Francis could back away, she caught his eye.

Francis looked back at her, trying not to blush.

She also looked a little embarrassed at the apparent realisation that he had been watching her play games with Charles-games that princesses were not really supposed to play. But still, she grinned at him. Then, she raised an eyebrow at him and pretended to tap on an imaginary watch on her wrist, almost like she was mocking him for being late…

Of course. She was ready to go. Ready to go to Paris.

Francis had almost forgotten, with all of the confusion over the past few minutes. She was outside, waiting for him. She was expecting him to head outside, so that they could head to Paris together. She was impatient to get going. Perhaps she was even looking forward to spending the day with him.

Francis couldn't help grinning back at her. Quickly, he moved away from the window and walked out of his room and towards the castle doors, so that he could meet her outside.

Francis knew that right now, everything was against them; there were others competing for Mary's heart, and others disapproving of the match; but still, Francis could not give up on her. As long as there was some hope that he would eventually be the one to win her heart, Francis would keep fighting for her.


	16. Chapter 16

Mary was playing games with Charles in the castle gardens when Francis walked out of one of the castle's exit doors and descended the stone steps.

She quickly paused the game she was playing and stopped to stare at him.

He looked handsome, there was no doubt about it, dressed almost casually in a black shirt and trousers, with his blond curls looking a little more unruly than usual. There was something about the way he was dressed today that made him seem more like a typical young man who was taking a day off from work.

For some reason, Mary's heart started to beat faster. When Mary had caught his eye while he'd been staring out of the window a few moments ago, she was sure that they'd shared a moment; it was like _something_ had passed between them. Perhaps this day really would be a special day just for the two of them.

Suddenly realising that she was staring, Mary blinked rapidly a few times and tried to compose herself.

As Charles quickly became distracted and he ran off to carry on playing his games with a little girl with blonde hair who was also outside, running around the grounds, Mary walked slowly towards Francis.

He seemed to be watching her approach.

With every step, she thought about the secret that the king had just revealed to her-about how he believed that Francis was in love with her. She knew that she should be thinking about all of the other things that the king had said, but she couldn't get that one idea out of her head; it was the same idea that was making her increasingly nervous with every step closer she took towards the future King of France.

"Mary," Francis greeted her with a smile and a bow as she approached. Apparently, he hadn't fully switched off from royal protocol.

"Francis," Mary replied with a bow of her own, unable to think of anything else to say.

She was lost for words. She wasn't sure why. She also felt self-conscious in a way that she had never felt before. These moments of getting to see Francis like this-casual, unguarded, always threw her.

"Do you think I look under-dressed?" she couldn't help blurting out. She was worried now that her clothes would be too casual for the trip to Paris.

"You look beautiful," he replied quickly. Then his eyes widened as though he'd only just realised what he'd said.

Mary had to fight off a blush. Although, things were made easier by the fact that Francis seemed a little embarrassed, too.

An awkward silence suddenly passed between the two of them. It seemed that Francis wasn't sure what to say either.

Francis stood with his hands clasped behind his back, and the two of them seemed to shuffle from one foot to the other, not speaking.

In the silence, Mary wondered again if her clothes really were suitable for the day ahead-she had chosen to wear a simple white jumper over a black T-shirt and trousers, with plain black flat shoes to finish off the look. She had grown rather fond of wearing white jumpers ever since Francis had allowed her to wear his a few days ago.

"I have a surprise for you," Francis suddenly announced with an almost-grin, breaking the silence. Whatever the surprise was, he looked rather pleased with himself, although he still looked a little nervous. A few weeks ago, Mary had never even thought that Francis could _get_ nervous. She could get used to seeing him like this, she realised.

"A surprise?" Mary asked him with a raised eyebrow.

Francis nodded. "I thought we could take a train to Paris, instead of taking the cars all the way?"

In spite of the awkwardness of the moment, Mary couldn't help feeling happy about this suggestion. She got bored sometimes, of having to travel everywhere in royal cars with only the guards and a police escort for company. There were times when she'd longed to take trains around Scotland by herself, to take in the beautiful Scottish countryside from the train's window.

"That would be perfect," she told Francis with a polite nod, before they were interrupted by a few photographers, who wanted to take a picture of them standing outside the castle.

* * *

There were cars waiting to take them to the train station. Mary opened one of the doors and climbed into the back seat, with Francis not too far behind her.

Eventually, after a minor tantrum from Charles, and his repeated insistence that he wanted to travel to the station with them, Mary and Francis got into the waiting cars, and they were soon joined by Francis's younger brother, as well as Charles's friend-the little girl with blonde hair who was apparently the daughter of a friend of Catherine's, who had been spending a couple of weeks at the castle with her family.

Mary and Francis sat opposite Charles and the little girl in the car.

Francis was quiet as the cars started their journey out of the castle grounds. Mary felt a little tense as yet another awkward silence passed between them. Francis looked nervous again, guarded…More than that, he looked like he was lost in thought, or like he was trying to make a decision about something.

To make matters even more awkward, Charles suddenly reached out his hand to the little girl who was sitting next to him. The little girl giggled and reached out her left hand towards him.

Soon, the two children were sitting holding hands.

Francis seemed to look more nervous than ever when he looked at the children's joined hands-Mary wondered if the gesture made him feel under pressure to hold _her_ hand.

Quickly, Francis looked away from them all and turned to look out of the window.

When Mary caught Charles's eye, he grinned at her, a playful expression on his face.

Mary couldn't help grinning back at him-Charles knew exactly what he was doing; he knew, somehow, that Francis was nervous around Mary, and he was being the typical little brother, trying to embarrass his big brother.

* * *

When they arrived at the tiny train station in the French countryside, Mary noticed, to her surprise, that a large, old-fashioned steam train was waiting to take them to the capital city.

She had to cover up a gasp of delight. She might have expected the train to be slightly more luxurious than a typical train, given Francis's status as a royal, but nothing could have prepared her for this.

The train was like something out of Mary's favourite classic novels-like some kind of preserved relic from the past. She wondered if Francis had hired the train for the day…for her. She felt a strange thrill at the thought of it.

"Do you like it?" Francis asked her in a whisper. It seemed he didn't want their conversation to be overheard by the camera crew and photographers who had gathered on the platform.

"I love it," Mary replied to him in a whisper. And she meant it.

It was worth it to see the smile on Francis's face at her response.

* * *

Mary and Francis had agreed that the camera crew could have limited access to their trip today. This limited access involved the two of them posing for several photographs as they boarded the train. But still, in spite of the not-so-welcome presence of the cameras, Mary still noticed that the interior of the train was just as beautiful as the outside-the carriages were full of dark-wood tables and comfortable-looking red leather seats, with a red carpet rolled out down the middle of each carriage, partially covering the original blue carpet.

Mary and Francis took their seats opposite one another, with only a table between them, trying to ignore the camera crew and various members of staff who had taken their seats in the same carriage.

As the train pulled out of the station, afternoon tea was brought out to them on a silver tray.

Mary was impressed by the fancy cups of tea and the delicious-looking sandwiches and scones.

Discreetly, she took a picture of the food and drink. Then, after thinking about it for a couple of moments, she sent the picture to Greer, Lola and Kenna.

Greer and Lola seemed happy to receive a photo, the two of them quickly sending replies, asking her how she was enjoying the visit to France so far. Only Kenna seemed less than impressed: _Forget about the food, Mary!_ she sent as her reply. _Take more pictures with Francis!_

Mary had to cover up her laughter at Kenna's response. She felt strangely content at the girls' responses. It was nice, to pretend to be a normal teenager for a while.

As Mary and Francis took sips from their cups of tea, Francis asked Mary about a few of the books she'd read recently.

Mary was only too happy to talk about a more light-hearted topic.

Mary wasn't sure what surprised her the most-the fact that Francis seemed to enjoy most of the same books as she did, or the fact that the conversation was flowing easily between them, now that they had found something to talk about and there were no cameras pointing right at them.

It was only a little later in the journey, when another silence passed between them, that all of Mary's troubled thoughts seemed to take over her mind again.

As the French countryside rolled past the windows, Mary's memories of her conversation with the king whirled around in her mind.

She thought about all the dirt he had on Scotland, all the threats he had made. She thought about how he had told her that Francis was in love with her-she couldn't stop thinking about it.

Then she thought about James, and all the secrets that he had kept from her.

She thought about Catherine, and how she had photos of Mary and Bash that she could use against her at any moment.

She thought about Bash, and all his secrets.

She thought about Narcisse, and all his scheming.

She thought about her mother, sick, preparing to hand over the crown to James.

She thought about Conde, with his home in London, walking towards her in the corridor. _"Who has the key to your heart?"_ he had asked her…

"Mary?"

Mary jumped a little at the sound of Francis's voice. She had been so lost in her worries that she had almost forgotten where she was.

Almost reluctantly, she turned away from the window.

"Are you all right?" Francis asked her, with a concerned-looking expression on his face.

Mary nodded, trying to look convincing.

Apparently, Francis could see through the act. "Did you talk with my father?" he asked her. "You don't have to answer," he added quickly, his tone of voice soft, reassuring.

Again, Mary nodded. She was sure that a look of despair was written all over her face, because Francis frowned. He lifted his hands a little, as though half-considering reaching out to comfort her, but then he seemed to think better of it.

After a few moments of careful consideration, Mary decided that it would be better to be honest-about some of the conversation, anyway. "It is as I thought," she told Francis, "and at the same time, much worse."

"Mary, what is it?" Francis asked her in barely more than a whisper.

"He is using my whereabouts on the night of the attack as blackmail material," she replied, trying to suppress a shudder as she thought about that night. "As well as my country's desperate need for money and security."

A pained expression seemed to cross Francis's face.

At the very least, Mary was reassured by the fact that he seemed disgusted by his father's motives.

"It is more than that," she continued, her heart beating fast, "he has discovered…secrets about my brother that he can also use to threaten Scotland."

A look of surprise, then shock, then concern crossed Francis's face.

Mary could understand Francis's surprise at this news-she too had thought that James always behaved perfectly. How easy it was to be wrong about people!

Mary knew that she was taking another great risk in revealing this news about her brother to a French royal, but she felt like Francis deserved to know the full truth about his father's behaviour. "James is a future king, Francis," Mary explained to him, needlessly, "we cannot afford anything negative to be revealed about him so close to a coronation…"

"Mary, I'm so sorry," said Francis.

Mary had the distinct impression that Francis had wanted to say those words for a while.

"I knew about the first part of his…blackmail," he said, "but I had no idea about the second part. I thought that by agreeing to take part in the show, I could protect you…"

Mary nodded, not really sure what to say in response. A part of her was grateful that Francis was being more honest with her, and trying in his own way to protect her, but another part of her wasn't convinced that either of them could ever be safe from the king's scheming.

"Last night," Francis went on, a rare look of vulnerability on his face now; a look that almost made Mary want to move forward in her seat, "I couldn't sleep-I was thinking that you would leave, after my father revealed a few unpleasant truths to you-"

"You were afraid that I would leave?" Mary asked him with a raised eyebrow. She couldn't help feeling rather flattered that he was concerned about her leaving.

"I didn't say 'afraid'," Francis cut in quickly, an almost-pout on his face at Mary's choice of phrasing. It seemed that future kings did not like to appear to be afraid of anything.

Mary couldn't help it-in spite of everything, she smiled. "Of course not," she whispered, mockingly. It was like they were children again, teasing each other.

Francis smiled back at her, but he still looked a little worried.

"Any yet I'm still here," said Mary. She almost couldn't believe it herself.

"And yet you're still here," Francis repeated, a look of what could be amazement on his face.

They lapsed into silence again, but this time, the silence was a more comfortable one.

* * *

Less than an hour later, the train arrived at the station in Paris.

They were ushered off the train and into a waiting car by various security guards.

As she got into the car, Mary saw that the sun was bright in the sky. She couldn't help smiling. She was here, in Paris, on a sunny day, with Francis. They were 'off-duty' today-they didn't have to follow royal protocol, if they didn't want to. Were they on a date? Mary wasn't sure.

In no time at all, the car took them to their first location. Mary had spoken a little to Francis about the places she wished to visit in Paris, and Francis had planned out their day in advance with his staff and security team.

She might have mentioned the places she wanted to visit, but it still felt new and surprising to Mary when they arrived at the _Louvre_. She imagined that this is how tourists would feel on their first visit to the city.

They walked around the gallery together, taking in the priceless paintings as their security teams trailed behind them.

Francis talked enthusiastically about the paintings and portraits, pointing out a few of his favourites to Mary, and telling her random facts and dates. He looked and sounded confident now, almost as though he were speaking to a large audience. He could stand tall, recite information, project his voice. He would make a great leader, Mary thought to herself.

As Francis started to tell her stories about his visits to the gallery during his childhood, Mary watched him in amazement, stunned into silence by the fact that Francis was talking so openly, and happily, as though they had been friends for years. Mary wondered, not for the first time, if Francis felt like he could show more of his true self when he was away from the castle.

"I'm sorry, I'm boring you," said Francis with an apologetic shrug. He actually looked a little embarrassed.

Mary looked at him, a little surprised that he had interpreted her silence for boredom.

"Not at all," Mary told him with a grin. She wasn't yet ready to admit that her 'boredom' had really been interest.

* * *

They continued to walk close to one another as they headed outside into the _Louvre's_ grounds. They had allowed this part of the visit to be photographed, and the two of them spent a little while posing for photographs next to the glass pyramids.

She followed the photographer's directions, moving closer to Francis when she was instructed to do so. It didn't feel quite as awkward as it used to.

As she stood in silence, Mary tried her best to appreciate the beauty of her surroundings, and she tried not to let her thoughts run away with her. For a moment, she wondered whereabout in the city Conde's Parisian apartment was located, and if he liked spending so much time in the city, but she was quickly distracted from these thoughts when Francis put his arm around her for another photograph.

* * *

After their visit to the _Louvre_ , the two of them were driven the short distance to the _Jardin des Tuileries_ , where Mary knew that they would have a little time to themselves, as their staff had promised to keep their distance.

They strolled around the grounds, passing several trees and a statue, and pausing to look at the ferris wheel in the distance.

After about twenty minutes, Mary stopped underneath one of the larger trees.

"Are you all right?" Francis asked her, looking concerned.

Mary nodded. "Sit with me?" she asked Francis. If he asked, she would tell him that she wanted to take a break from all of the members of the security staff who were walking around the outskirts of the park, but there was a little more to it than that-being here, in a park, walking under the trees, it was bringing some kind of memory back for Mary-a moment shared with Francis when they were younger. And yet she still couldn't quite retrieve it in her mind. She was hoping that she might get closer to discovering the full memory if she sat here with Francis for a little while.

Francis nodded. He moved to sit next to her under the tree, and they sat in silence for a few moments.

"Do you remember all the time we spent together in the gardens when we were children?" Mary asked him.

"Of course," Francis replied with a smile. He looked truly happy, as though the memories were fond ones.

They fell into a conversation about their time spent together at the castle as children, gently mocking each other, each claiming that the other had played the worst practical jokes or said the most insulting comments. Mary couldn't help feeling a little sad-for the first time in what was probably a long time, she wished that their families had not become mixed up in rivalries and feuds; she wished that she'd had the opportunity to talk with Francis more over the years-perhaps things would not have been so awkward when they were reunited for the matchmaking show.

By the time they stood up again to continue walking around the park, Mary still could not recall the memory that was hiding in the back in the back of her mind. However, she was certain that the time spent reminiscing with Francis had been time well spent.

* * *

Mary was almost reluctant to leave the park, but it was worth it when they were driven to a little coffee shop just on the edge of the _Champs Elysees_ , where they were allowed to stop for lunch. The two of them sat outside at a table for two, wearing hats and sunglasses in an attempt at a disguise.

Every now and again, Mary noticed a member of the Security Team walking past the table, and across from them on the other side of the street, but apart from that, they were mostly left alone to enjoy their lunch and then to eat cake, talking in low voices and people-watching. The people around them seemed to have no idea that they were sitting next to royalty.

Francis seemed to be making an effort to make conversation today. He asked her about Greer, and how things were going after her wedding, which led to a conversation about Greer and Aloysius, and how they had met. Then they started talking about Greer's ex-boyfriend, Leith, as it turned out that he and Francis had been friends, when they'd been at school in London. Sometimes, it felt like all the people in her and Francis's lives overlapped in some way or another.

With each passing minute, Mary felt more relaxed, more free. There was something pleasant about being here, sitting outside a Parisian café, just like a tourist, dressed in casual clothes and enjoying the sunshine. She _liked_ being here with Francis Valois, she realised.

She wondered if she and Francis would ever have had the opportunity to visit this city together if their lives hadn't been thrown together due to their royal statuses.

They fell into reminiscing about their school days in London, and Francis mentioned something about the hours he had spent walking around the city.

Before the trip, Mary had worried that Francis would be serious and silent throughout the visit, but now it felt easy to make conversation with him; he didn't seem to take himself too seriously when he was off duty. Francis was so much more relaxed and open when he was away from castles and royal families, Mary realised.

"Where did you go, when you used to walk around the city by yourself?" Mary suddenly asked him without thinking about it.

She tried not to blush, worrying that Francis might work out that she had on several occasions tried to follow him around London.

Francis, however, looked very solemn and serious. "Everywhere. Nowhere," he responded with a sigh.

Mary watched him curiously, wondering if there was more to it than that.

They were interrupted by the arrival of a waiter, who brought more coffee over to their table.

The moment the waiter left, Francis spoke again, sounding more hesitant this time: "There was a girl there, in London. Sometimes, when I was walking around the city, I was trying to work up the courage to talk to her…"

At Francis's words, and his obvious blush, Mary felt a stab of something that had to be jealousy. Who was the girl? Did Mary know her? Did Francis still think about her? Why did she care so much?

Francis was looking at her like he expected her to say something, but Mary wasn't sure that she would be able to say anything wise right now.

They fell into silence again as they finished their coffees.

* * *

They spent the afternoon strolling around the shops on the _Champs Elysees_. Francis made a big show of rolling his eyes whenever Mary wanted him to stop and look in several of the shops that were selling women's designer clothes, but Mary knew from his smirks that he was only playing along, teasing her.

Then Mary had her turn to pretend to sigh and roll her eyes when Francis took her to some of the fancy shops selling designer suits for men.

Mary had to admit however, that Francis looked very handsome as he tried on a couple of expensive shirts.

After they had finished shopping (and Mary had purchased several gifts from tourist shops to take home to her friends), they ended up standing opposite the _Arc de Triomphe_.

Mary took out her phone, taking several pictures of the landmark, so that she could show them to her family.

"Can I take a picture with you?" Mary asked Francis after a few moments' consideration.

"You don't have to ask permission," Francis told her, laughter in his voice.

Mary felt a little embarrassed-she knew that she sounded like any other young girl who was asking for a selfie with a famous prince.

She rolled her eyes at Francis, but then she stood next to him, Francis holding her phone up to take the picture of the two of them together, with the _Arc de Triomphe_ in the background.

For a moment, Mary felt like any other young woman who was on a city break with her boyfriend.

Discreetly, she sent the picture to Kenna, deciding that this was the kind of photo that she would prefer to see. She smiled to herself when Kenna text her back almost immediately, with a lot of heart emojis in her response.

* * *

As the late afternoon turned into evening, Mary discovered that Francis had arranged another surprise.

They were booked in for a visit to the Eiffel Tower, and Francis's team had asked for the attraction to be closed for an hour so that they would have some privacy.

After Mary had quickly changed into slightly smarter clothes for the evening that had been provided for her by her stylists in one of the royal cars, Mary and Francis were escorted into the lifts by their security team, and within minutes, they were standing on one of the viewing decks, looking out over the city.

The stars were bright in the sky tonight, Mary noticed, and for now, everything felt peaceful.

After a little while, she looked to her left, where Francis was standing next to her, looking very serious again, like he was lost in troubled thoughts.

"What are you thinking about?" Mary asked him. She hoped that their agreement to be honest with each other still stood.

Francis remained quiet, and Mary was worried that he would not answer her rather personal question, but finally, he spoke: "Mary, I was thinking about how it will not always be possible to do things like this once I am king…"

"Duty comes first," Mary replied automatically. She had heard all of this before from her brother.

Unsurprisingly, Francis nodded.

Mary sighed to herself. This would be the reality, if she chose Francis in the end. He could arrange elaborate weekends in Paris now and again, but they could not just choose to leave the castle and spend time together whenever they wanted. Royal duty would have to come first. Francis had already accepted that. He was telling her now, being as honest as he could, that this would always be the case.

And, what would happen, if 'royal duty' advised Francis against marrying her, in the end?

"Mary?" Francis broke Mary's sombre thoughts with a whisper. "For the first time ever, I find myself wishing that I did not have any royal duties at all…"

"Oh," said Mary.

She wasn't really sure what to make of that answer; she wasn't sure what Francis meant by those words.

She went back to looking out at the city, thinking about how strange it was that she was standing with Francis in Paris, under the stars.

She wasn't sure if either of them had moved, but it felt as though they were standing a little closer to one another than they had been a couple of minutes ago.

* * *

At nightfall, the two of them ended up in an old-fashioned restaurant that was located not too far from the Eiffel Tower.

Mary sat back in her seat, dressed in an elegant black dress now, taking in the scene around her.

The tables were decorated with fancy tablecloths and silverware, a candle placed on each one. A chandelier hung from the ceiling, and an ornate piano was positioned in the right-hand corner of the room. A pianist sat at the piano stool, playing slow, romantic songs on the keys.

A few elderly couples stood together on the polished wooden dancefloor, slow dancing to the music.

Mary took a few careful sips of her hot chocolate, after having declined various fancy cups of tea that had been offered to her.

For a little while, she made conversation with Francis about the upcoming journey home, thanking him again for a nice day, but although Francis responded politely, he was a little quiet again, as though his thoughts were somewhere else.

Mary was starting to feel a little nervous about Francis's silence, but suddenly he smiled, and Mary felt calm again.

"Mary," he asked her, his tone of voice more relaxed, informal, "would you do me the honour of dancing with me?" With that, he nodded in the direction of the dancefloor, before pausing to wait for her response.

Mary tried not to widen her eyes in shock. She couldn't believe it. Francis was asking her to dance with him. And here of all places-somewhere so private, so informal; somewhere so far away from official royal dances.

She remembered their conversation last night, when she'd asked him why he didn't dance with her; how she'd told him that he would never know if she wanted to dance with him if he didn't ask. He must have known, must have picked up on the fact that his apparent reluctance to dance with her meant something to her. And now he really was asking her, with nobody telling him that he had to do it, and not out of any sense of duty or decorum or diplomacy.

She realised that he was still waiting for her to say something.

"The honour would be mine," Mary answered with a smile, mocking the typical royal response as she held out a hand for Francis to lead her to the dancefloor.

With an amused-looking grin, he led her towards the dancefloor, and then they were standing among the elderly couples, all of whom seemed to have no idea who they both were.

It took them a few moments to get into position; to stand close together and to decide where their arms and hands were supposed to go.

As Francis placed a hand on Mary's waist, the two of them looked at each other and shared a laugh at the awkwardness of the moment. Mary couldn't get over the fact that they were standing here, in an old restaurant, amongst people much older than them, with so much history between them, attempting to dance with one another, in spite of everything.

Mary guessed that Francis was not completely comfortable with doing this, but it seemed he was making the effort, for her.

But then they were moving, slowly, in time to the soft, romantic music, with Francis gently leading the two of them; he seemed to be well-practiced at this whole dancing thing, Mary realised.

After a little while, the lights started to dim, and Mary got lost in the moment, standing close to Francis, moving slowly in time to the song being played on the piano. There was something comfortable about this, familiar, but also something new, scary, exhilarating. It was as though time stopped; as though they were in another world; as though it was just the two of them. Mary wasn't sure if she had ever felt like this before.

She looked right at Francis, and he was looking right at her. Something deep, hidden, secret seemed to pass between the two of them in that look. They moved a little closer to one another. Mary wasn't sure what was happening, but she wanted more of this moment…

"You two make a beautiful couple!"

They were interrupted by an elderly couple who had just waltzed past them. The woman, who a had a German accent, was looking at the two of them with a proud smile. She clearly had no idea who they were both were, but she seemed to find the sight of two young people dancing together adorable.

Francis simply smiled at the woman and nodded in acknowledgement, while Mary tried her best to smile at them as they waltzed away from them, although she still felt a little dazed.

She looked at Francis and the two of them smiled at each other. Whatever had happened, the moment had been lost. But still, it felt nice, when Francis pulled her in close again; it was like the two of them were embracing.

Mary allowed Francis to hold her as she leaned her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes, allowing the music to carry her away to a magical place again.

She felt almost like her body was healing, resetting after the last time the two of them had stood so close together on a dancefloor. Back then, the night had ended in disaster. But tonight, as Francis held her in the darkened room, the two of them temporarily free from their usual distractions, it felt like the two of them fit together perfectly.

* * *

By the time they arrived at the train station, a large crowd had gathered on the platform.

Mary sighed. It seemed that word had got out that a prince and a princess were visiting the city.

The presence of the large crowd meant that their walk across the platform and to the train was not as relaxing as Mary would have hoped.

They were escorted down the platform with various security guards pressed up close to them, protecting them.

Finally, Mary was standing by one of the open carriage doors, ready to board the train.

"Queen Mary?"

Mary stopped, blinked a few times in shock; it took her a few moments to work out that it was _her_ who was being addressed. It felt very strange, to be addressed as a queen.

Slowly, she turned around.

Two children had pushed their way to the front of the crowd on the platform. A little boy and a little girl were looking up at her expectantly, holding out a bunch of white flowers for her.

Apparently, they were somehow under the impression that Mary was already a queen.

After a quick security check from her guards, Mary was able to accept the flowers from the children.

"Thank you," she told them with a smile.

The children bowed to her and disappeared among the crowd.

* * *

Still in a daze, Mary boarded the train.

She held the flowers tightly in her hands as she sat down slowly in her seat, and Francis sat down opposite her.

Suddenly, the events of the day played out clearly in her mind, overwhelming her…

She thought about all the places they'd visited in the city, all the conversations they'd had. She thought about her slow-dance with Francis-a dance that she had never thought she would have. She thought about the elderly couple on the dancefloor, who had assumed that she and Francis were a couple. Then she thought about the children, holding the flowers with the white petals…

As Mary thought about the two children, a tear started to fall slowly down her cheek.

Francis was watching her, a worried look on his face. "Are you okay?" he asked her in a whisper, no doubt trying to avoid attracting the attention of the other people who were travelling with them on the train.

Mary nodded. _I will be okay_ , she thought to herself. For the first time in a long time, she could believe it.

She noticed that Francis had moved his hand ever-so-slightly closer to hers, as though silently debating again whether he should offer comfort.

This time, Mary reached out and closed the gap between them.

Francis simply allowed her to take his hand in hers. He didn't ask her anymore questions; he just held her hand as a few more tears fell.

As the train made its journey back towards the castle, the two of them continued to hold hands.


	17. Chapter 17

Mary might have slept soundly through the night after her return from Paris, dreaming of stars and ballrooms and flowers, feeling more relaxed than she had felt in a long time, but the next morning, she woke up earlier than she had planned. She felt like her sleep had abruptly been disturbed, and she was sure that she had heard the faint sound of footsteps on her bedroom floor only a few minutes ago.

She sat up, groggily, feeling a little disorientated for a moment by her surroundings-she was still getting used to waking up in the French castle.

As she sat up, she could make out the faint orange light of the sun through the window as it rose in the sky.

Suddenly, Mary looked to her left as something caught her eye. She noticed a tiny black jewellery box on her bedside table.

She blinked in confusion a few times. She had been very tired by the time she'd arrived back at the castle after the day in Paris, but she was certain that the box hadn't been there last night.

For a moment, she felt a little suspicious. But then she heard the now-familiar voices of the castle's cleaning staff just outside her door, and she relaxed a little, deciding that one of them must have brought the jewellery box into her room. She wasn't sure why, or who it was from.

With shaking hands, Mary reached out for the box. Slowly, she opened it. After she had let out a gasp of shock, she stared at the tiny silver charm inside the box, trying to process what this gift could mean.

The silver charm was in the shape of a tiny little house-when Mary looked at it closely, she realised that it was almost an exact replica of the picture of Louis Conde's house that he had shown her yesterday.

Mary let go of the jewellery box, letting it to fall to her bed, almost as though it would burn her if she held onto it for too long.

Conde had intentionally had this particular charm sent to her this morning, she just knew it. He had seen something in her face yesterday, when she'd been staring at that photograph. Perhaps she should have guarded her emotions better, because now she felt like he was trying to lead her into some sort of temptation.

Cautiously, Mary took the silver charm out of its box. She lifted it up, examining it for a while, like it would contain some sort of secret code. She should put it away, she knew; she should hide it, somewhere she would never find it-but the charm was beautiful, and she couldn't let it go just yet.

There was a small silver loop at the top of the charm, right on the silver roof of the house. Mary reached for her black ribbon that she'd left on the large dressing table in the bedroom. She untied the knot and fed the ribbon through the silver loop. The charm slid effortlessly onto the ribbon, and the house moved into place next to the key and the wooden ring.

Mary picked up the necklace and placed it around her neck, trying it on for size now that something new had been added to the ribbon-a new secret on the hidden necklace; a new offering.

 _Take it off!_ a little nagging voice in Mary's head that sounded suspiciously like her mother told her.

She would be opening herself up to all sorts of complications if anyone discovered the gift or if anyone found out who had sent to her. Not to mention that she was most likely tormenting herself with a future that would never be possible.

The doll's house; an escape from royal duties. It was oh so tempting...She couldn't take the necklace off. Not yet.

Mary stood up and walked towards the full-length mirror on the other side of the room. She stood in front of it, taking in her reflection.

Strangely, as she looked in the mirror, she pictured Narcisse's chessboard. By sending her this gift, Conde was intentionally adding himself to the game-another piece, another component to consider. He was offering her…something…some sort of alternative to the standard rules of the game.

Last night, everything had felt so perfect, and now Mary felt confused all over again.

The moment Mary turned away from the mirror and towards the window, she caught sight of Francis, who was outside, walking in the grounds.

He looked as handsome as ever today, dressed in dark trousers and a light blue shirt that seemed to make his blond hair look even more golden. Yet, there was something unsettled about him today; something that was far from calm and peaceful. He seemed to be pacing up and down, looking lost in thought, and like he had a thousand things on his mind. His steps were rapid, and his hands seemed to be clasped tightly in his pockets.

After a couple of minutes, Francis headed towards the trees at the end of the gardens. It seemed like he was heading somewhere more private.

Mary was overcome with a burning curiosity; a deep desire to follow him in the way that she had always followed him around London.

Almost absently, she placed a hand over the objects on her necklace. _The key. The mysterious ring. The house._ _Francis. Bash. Conde._

If Francis really did love her, would Mary even consider the others? At the start of the matchmaking show, she still would have considered other possibilities, no matter what…but now, she wasn't so sure. Last night, when she'd been dancing with Francis in Paris, Mary had felt like she didn't need anybody else...

She needed an answer, she decided. She was leaving today to return to Scotland. As much as the thought of asking him terrified her, she had to find out, now…

Hurriedly, she looked for something presentable to change into. She did not have time to call on a team of staff to apply her makeup and get her hair to look perfect and fasten her into to an intricate dress designed for a princess. This was no show, and there would be no cameras today.

When she opened the wardrobe door, Mary spotted a dress hanging there that hadn't been there yesterday.

The dress was light pink, and it looked just like the typical style of dress that Mary had worn on her visits to France during her childhood-back when she'd preferred light blues and pinks and ribbons in her hair; before she'd started to wear black all the time.

She frowned. Not many people would have known about the style of dresses she'd worn a decade ago.

As she took the dress off its hanger, a small note card fell to the floor. It had the official French royal stamp at the top, and a signature. Catherine's signature.

 _With respect_ , Catherine had written on the card, cryptically.

Mary frowned and shook her head in confusion. She had no idea what she had done to merit any sort of respect from Francis's mother.

Mary checked the dress for any signs of sharp needles or poisonous powder or other hidden traps, but everything seemed to be above board.

She still didn't know why Catherine had sent her a gift, but she didn't have time to think about that right now.

* * *

In a matter of minutes, Mary had got dressed. She attempted to fix her hair, and then she headed out to the grounds.

She ran across the gardens and towards the trees, still not entirely certain where she was going or what she was doing.

It was easier that she'd thought it would be to trace Francis's steps. He'd left footprints in the ground that Mary could follow.

With every step she took deeper into the forest, Mary was overcome with a strong sense of déjà vu. Once upon a time, she had visited this place; she had walked this path many times before; it was all becoming clear now.

* * *

Finally, the trees opened out into a clearing. In the middle of the clearing was a tree. On the tree were hundreds of white petals. It was beautiful. Mary knew that she should have felt a little surprised at discovering such an unusual tree, but she had seen it before-she had been here many times as a child, she remembered. She had stood under this tree, and its petals had fallen gently on her head…the memories were desperately trying to reveal themselves to her, now that she was here.

She had been here with Francis. She had always been happy here. It had been one of her favourite places in the world. And yet there was a sadness about this place, in the trees, further into the forest; another dark memory that Mary couldn't quite access; something that was still blocking an important recollection of this place.

Mary noticed that Francis was standing underneath the tree with the white petals, his back to Mary. She got the impression that he still came to this place a lot-perhaps to think, to escape, to remember…

As though in a trance, Mary took a step towards him. In her hurry, she stepped on a loose twig on the floor.

At the sound of the wood breaking, Francis jumped. Slowly, he turned around to face her.

Briefly, there was a look of surprise on his face at seeing her here, then confusion. He didn't exactly look upset by her arrival, but Mary could sense that he had so much on his mind; it was like he was wrestling with several emotions at once; there was conflict written all over his face.

"Mary," he whispered.

"Francis," Mary replied, feeling lost for words all over again.

They stared at each other in the silence for a few moments.

Francis took a step towards her, but then he stopped. It seemed like he was acting like a future king again, silently telling himself that he could not get too close.

So Mary took it upon herself to move closer to him. She still wasn't quite sure where she was going with this meeting in the middle of the forest, but she knew that there was something important she had to find out before she left for Scotland.

"If I ask you something," she said, her voice trembling as she repeated the words that Francis had said to her the night before the visit to Paris, "will you answer honestly?"

Francis seemed to contemplate her question for a few moments, but finally, he nodded. For the first time ever, he looked scared, vulnerable...but still, there was something determined in his expression as well.

Mary took a few deep breaths. For the past two years, she had been so afraid, but now, she really wanted to be brave…

"If I was just a girl, and you were just a boy, not a future king of anything, what is it that you would want?"

Mary's question seemed to light a spark in Francis's eyes. His expression of fear changed to one of determination. Right now, Francis did not look like a king. He was a lost boy, walking around London, desperately trying to find something.

Still, there was silence.

"Francis, please," Mary practically begged. "I have a decision to make soon, and I have to know the full story..."

Francis took a step towards her. Then another, his movements rapid.

 _Oh_ , Mary suddenly realised, as it became startlingly clear from the look on Francis's face exactly what he had been searching for in London. _Who_ he had been searching for; the reason why he had looked so uncomfortable when Mary had first asked him about his London walks. What a miracle.

Francis was right up close to her, in her space. His hands were on her face.

Mary was frozen to the spot, unsure exactly what was happening, only knowing that she was standing in exactly the right place.

Francis hesitated for a moment-he looked right into her eyes, as though silently asking permission.

Mary nodded.

Then his lips were on hers, and they were kissing. Francis was kissing her. And Mary was kissing him back.

The kiss was only slow at first, sweet, but then it quickly grew in intensity.

Mary parted her lips, allowing Francis better access, and then there was nothing sweet about it.

Francis kissed her like he was desperate, like he had to put _everything_ into this kiss before they parted; just in case he never got to kiss her again.

Mary had no clue what she was doing, but here, with Francis, she was able to act on instinct; it was as though her heart had this boy memorised, somehow.

Francis didn't seem to be complaining. He took control of the kiss, pulling Mary closer to him, and Mary took whatever she could get from him.

The moment was perfect. She didn't want it to end.

She lifted her right hand and ran it through Francis's soft curls, trying to hold him even tighter; trying to bring him closer to her.

So much pain, so much distance between them over the years, and yet, this kiss felt like the most natural thing in the world. Mary felt like she was back home.

It was like the rest of the world slipped out of focus. There was only Francis, and this kiss, and a few white petals from the tree falling gently onto their heads…

And suddenly, like a key turning in a lock, a memory opened up in her mind, now as clear as day…

 _She was six years old. She had spent most of the summer with the Valois family at the French castle. She was happy, being here. She always told her parents that she liked it here because she enjoyed playing outside in the castle's grounds, and because there were horses in the stables, and the food tasted nice, and she was allowed to eat sweets and chocolate and cake, and she had even been allowed to dance in the ballroom with the grown-ups, but really, it was the presence of the boy with blond curls who was making her feel so content._

 _Francis always seemed pleased to spend time with her, and the two of them spent their days running up and down the castle's corridors, and running hand-in-hand through the gardens, giggling and laughing at each other's jokes at the dinner table, sharing their food, and even sneaking out into the corridors at night, where they crept around the castle and shared whispered conversations. Already, Mary was dreading having to go home-she didn't want to leave Francis._

 _Catherine pretended to get annoyed with them sometimes, especially when she caught them jumping on the beds or having pillow fights, but then Mary would catch her smiling affectionately at the two of them, and she guessed that the queen's anger was just for show._

 _Mary spent many evenings in her room, writing her and Francis's names in her journal and on various royal notecards, always writing his surname next to her name, and the other way around. Then she would write their names all over again, surrounded by little red hearts. She liked the look of their names together._

 _And so the summer days went on. Once or twice, Francis danced with Mary in the ballroom when all the adults threw their extravagant parties. Most evenings, Francis kissed her on the hand before she went upstairs to her room, the two of them giggling as they mocked the gestures of all the adults, and then when the sun rose in the morning, they continued to explore the castle together._

 _Mary's favourite place to go with Francis however, was in a clearing in the forest that surrounded the castle. The two of them had found a little tree which flowered with beautiful white petals every spring. Sometimes, the petals would gently fall down onto Francis and Mary's heads when they were sitting under the tree. They would spend hours there, in the afternoons._

 _Time seemed to move forward a little in Mary's mind, and suddenly it was the end of the summer. She still didn't want to go home to Scotland. She didn't want to leave France. She didn't want to leave Francis…_

 _However, she had a plan; she had a plan for their future. She would ensure that one day, they would not have to part like this._

 _It was the last day of her family's visit to France._

 _Mary walked through the forest towards the tree with the white petals, feeling very sure of herself. She had arranged to meet Francis here today, and she had a very important question to ask him. She had to get an answer before her family left to go back to Scotland._

 _Francis was already waiting for her under the tree. He grinned at her as she approached. He always looked happy to see her. He was her best friend in the world._

 _Mary took determined steps towards him, getting as close to him as she could before she stopped._

 _Then, she got down on one knee._

" _Francis, will you marry me?" she asked him._

 _She wanted Francis to be her husband, one day. She had decided it for sure, over the summer. She was only six years old, but she had never been so certain of anything in her life._

 _Francis's eyes widened as he looked at her in shock. It was not quite the reaction that Mary had been hoping for._

" _Mary," he told her, shaking his head, "we can't get married! We're only children!"_

 _Mary was confused for a moment. She hadn't thought about that. "But we'll be grownups, one day," she told him, trying to be logical, "and we can get married then!" She smirked to herself, feeling sure that she had just given a very clever answer._

 _Francis, however, did not seem convinced. "You won't want to marry me when we're grown up," he told her with a sigh._

" _Why not?!" Mary demanded of him, as stubborn as ever._

" _Because you will be in Scotland, and I will be in France, and one day you will forget about this marriage proposal. And then other boys in Scotland will want to marry you, and you will marry one of them."_

" _No, I won't!" Mary responded, feeling a little upset now. "I don't want to marry a boy in Scotland! I want to marry_ you _! Do you not want to marry me?" she asked him, feeling a little confused now, and a little hurt. She had thought that maybe Francis loved her too, but now she wondered if maybe she had been wrong._

" _Of course I want to marry you, Mary," he told her, grinning now._

" _Then, what is the problem?" Mary asked him with a frown._

 _Francis went silent, looking like he was really thinking about it._

" _Okay," he finally said with another smile, "if you still want to marry me when we're older, then I will marry you."_

" _Of course I will still want to marry you, silly," Mary told him with a giggle._

 _Francis looked happy, but he still didn't quite seem convinced yet._

" _Francis," Mary told him, trying to look serious, like all the grownups in her life, "I promise you that I will remember this moment; and I promise you that one day I will come back to France, and we will get married."_

 _And so Francis smiled, and he gave her a hug, and he kissed her hand, and then they spent the rest of the afternoon sitting under the tree, fashioning wedding rings out of twigs and fallen leaves, and taking turns to practice proposing to each other formally, like all the adults in the royal family did…_

Mary was back in the present, still kissing Francis, holding on to him for dear life.

She blinked a few times, wondering how she had ever forgotten that memory; she wondered what terrible moment had happened around the same time to cause her to repress it; she thanked God and whoever else might have brought that memory back to her that she had finally been able to unlock it. She felt almost complete, as though a part of herself that she'd lost over the years had finally slid back into place.

 _Who has the key to your heart?_ Conde had asked her.

Mary placed her hand over the key as Francis kissed her more slowly now, the kiss becoming a lot more gentle.

When he pulled away, Mary had to resist the urge to chase after his lips with hers.

Luckily, he didn't move too far away. His hands were still on her face, and he was gazing right into her eyes, a look of wonder on his face, as though he couldn't believe that this had just happened; as thought he was trying to memorise every detail.

He was crying, Mary realised. She had never seen him cry before.

As he moved a hand to brush away a tear from _her_ cheek, Mary realised that she too was overcome with emotion. She'd been so lost in the moment that she hadn't even noticed when the tears started to fall.

Time seemed to stand still as they continued to hold each other, their lips only inches apart, Francis gently brushing a few stray white petals out of Mary's hair.

"This," Francis told her in answer to a question that Mary had almost forgot. It felt like he was whispering his secrets to her, and to this place where they had shared so many happy moments. " _You._ "


	18. Chapter 18

Mary couldn't stop herself from smiling as she walked through the grand hallways of the French castle, on her way back to her room after her encounter with Francis in the royal gardens.

She knew that it was against royal protocol to grin like a teenager with a crush in the middle of a castle, but she couldn't help it. She still felt a little dazed, and disorientated; it was like everything was happening in slow motion.

As she pressed her finger to her lips, Mary replayed her kiss with Francis over and over in her mind.

Then she thought about the moments just after the kiss, when they had stood still in each other's arms, staring into each other's eyes, the two of them apparently reluctant to move away. She thought about the awkward mutterings about how they should probably get back to the castle; the nervous laughter just before they parted, the two of them apparently still in a state of disbelief over what had just happened.

Now, as she strolled through the long corridors, with sunlight streaming into all of the castle windows, Mary felt like she was walking on air.

* * *

The feeling lasted for as look as it took her to return to her room.

The first thing she noticed as she approached the room was that the door was wide open. Mary frowned. She was almost certain that she hadn't left the door open like that.

Almost reluctantly, she headed inside. When she stepped into the room, Mary noticed a newspaper article which had been displayed on her dressing table. Slowly, she walked towards it.

She could almost feel her blood run cold as she read the words of the article…

 _Royal Wedding Brought Forward!_ the headline declared.

With her heart pounding against her chest, Mary continued to read the 'breaking news' about how Prince James and Lady Kenna had announced that they would be moving the date of their wedding ceremony forward to next Saturday.

Mary shook her head in disbelief. Next Saturday. That meant that James and Kenna's wedding was less than a week away!

She thought of Kenna, crying about how James didn't really love her. She thought of James, with that pained look on his face that day by the river when the two of them had talked about arranged marriages.

Mary had always assumed that the wedding would not take place for months, maybe even a year. What had provoked this decision? There had to be more to it than simple convenience of wedding dates.

"Perhaps your family has lost all confidence in _your_ matchmaking process?"

Mary jumped at the sound of the voice from behind her. She really had to struggle to hide her gasp of fright at being startled like that. For a moment, she was back in the dark alleyway in Scotland, with a masked stranger creeping up on her and threatening her…

Slowly, Mary turned around. Catherine was leaning against the bedroom wall a few feet away from the door, with her arms folded and her eyebrows raised.

Mary struggled to compose herself. She hadn't even noticed that Catherine was in the room. The queen had managed to sneak up on her again. Mary knew that she would have to be more alert, more ready, better able to defend herself. She could not afford to be taken by surprise anymore.

"What do you want?" Mary asked her, trying to sound cool and dignified, rather than absolutely terrified.

She couldn't help playing the words that Catherine had just said over in her mind. Was her matchmaking process truly going so badly that her parents had had to take other, more drastic measures to ensure stability in Scotland? Was all of this her fault? Had James had any say in this? Where would the wedding leave Mary and Francis when they returned to Scotland?

Finally, Catherine let out a sigh, as though Mary's question was merely a mild irritation to her. "Francis has to stay for another night here in France," said Catherine, her expression unreadable.

"And why is that?" Mary asked her with folded arms as she tried to keep her voice level while trying not to sound like a petulant child. The wave of disappointment that ran through her took her by surprise. It struck her that she did not want to return to Scotland without Francis, not after what had just happened between them.

"His father thinks it would be beneficial for him to attend the Diplomat's Ball at the castle tonight," Catherine told her, still giving nothing away in her expression or her tone of voice. "Francis's appearance may help to soothe a few diplomatic relations in France that seem to have been neglected since your…television show began," she finished with a look of distaste. "And of course, duty will always come first for a future king…"

Mary rolled her eyes. From what she had seen in gossip magazines, the Diplomat's Ball mainly consisted of the rich and famous of Europe showing up on the red carpet outside 'Chateau Valois' so that the tabloids could speculate on all of the current celebrity romances and judge everybody's outfits. Mary really couldn't see why it was so important for Francis to attend.

"Of course," said Catherine, "you are welcome to stay and attend the event with Francis…" Her tone of voice suggested that Mary would not be welcome at all. "But it seems you may have more…urgent business to attend to back home…"

She inclined her head in the direction of the news article.

Catherine had deliberately placed that article on the table, Mary realised. The queen had wanted her to see it today. She was happy for an excuse to get Mary out of the way in time for tonight's ball.

Catherine was definitely up to something, but Mary knew that she could not wait any longer to return to Scotland. Whatever had happened back home to bring about this early wedding, her brother needed her. Her mother needed her…

Mary felt a fresh wave of dread as a new thought occurred to her-had her mother's condition got worse? Was her older brother's coronation imminent? Was that why he needed to be married this week? So that he and Kenna could project a stable image of a king and a queen, ready to rule their country? Was everything about to change in Scotland?

Mary knew that she must return home, and soon. For perhaps the first time in her life, the pull of duty felt stronger than the need to settle petty scores with French rivals.

"You must promise me that Francis will return to Scotland tomorrow," she told Catherine through gritted teeth. The idea that the queen would try some new devious tactic to keep Francis away from Scotland was making her feel physically sick.

Catherine didn't answer her. She started walking in slow circles around the room, picking up the newspaper article to examine it along the way.

As she walked past Mary, she stopped and looked her up and down. "That dress really suits you," she muttered, a tone of surprise in her voice, as though she had only just noticed that Mary was wearing the pink dress that she had left for her as a 'gift'.

Mary said nothing. She watched Catherine suspiciously, like she was a tiger who could pounce at any moment. Yet for a moment, an oddly maternal expression seemed to cross Catherine's face. Mary was reminded of the Catherine of her childhood, who would watch her and Francis with a fond expression on her face.

"It's not easy, having a son who is an heir to the throne of such a powerful country," Catherine told her with a sigh. "Especially when that son could potentially marry a princess from a rival country…"

Mary frowned, unsure where Catherine was going with this little speech.

"Oh, it's easy for Henry, of course," Catherine continued as she picked up her pacing around the room. "But what security is there for me, after my husband has gone? No regency, no defined role…Can you imagine the humiliation of being turfed out of my own home by a daughter-in-law from a _weaker_ country…"

Mary watched her for a few moments, trying not to let the surprise show on her face. Was this a rare moment of vulnerability from the queen?

"I will not throw you out of your home," said Mary. If that was what all of this was about, then perhaps the problem could be resolved.

"The first thing you will learn if you are handed a throne," said Catherine, her expression harsh again, "is that not all promises can be kept. Circumstances change; sacrifices have to be made; pieces have to be moved around on the chessboard. Your brother knows that all to well," she added with another nod in the direction of the news story. There was almost a hint of pity in her tone. "Do not make promises that you have no power to keep."

With that, she turned on her heel and started to head out of the room.

Just before she left, Mary heard her say, "I will ensure that Francis is back in Scotland by tomorrow."

Yet, after Catherine's speech about broken promises, Mary wasn't sure that she could put any faith in the queen's words.

* * *

Everything seemed to happen in slow motion as several members of Catherine and Henry's team of staff helped Mary to pack her belongings for her return to Scotland.

This time, Mary was not lost in happy haze of post-kissing joy; she struggled to focus as she thought about the newspaper article announcing James's upcoming wedding, and all the royal duties she would no doubt have to undertake over the next few days.

For many reasons, Mary had never warmed to the idea of James and Kenna as husband and wife. A part of her had hoped that the ceremony would be put off for as long as possible; that maybe it would take years before they all had to face the reality of it, but it seemed that Mary couldn't run from reality any longer.

And of course, where would the wedding preparations leave the matchmaking show?

Then, Mary thought about Catherine's announcement that Francis would be staying in France for another night. Mary didn't trust the queen, and she wondered what her true motivation was in getting her son to stay behind…

* * *

In what seemed like no time at all, Mary was walking down the stone steps at the front of the castle, heading in the direction of the car that was waiting to take her to the airport.

She couldn't help glancing over her shoulder as the large front doors started to close behind her. She thought about how much had changed during her short stay at the French castle; she thought about all of the secrets she had discovered-some of them good, some of them bad.

The doors seemed to close with a very final-sounding slam. A part of her wondered if she would ever see the inside of the castle again.

Still looking over her shoulder, Mary couldn't help noticing that both Catherine and Henry were looking out of the castle windows; looking down on her; watching her…

"Mary!"

Mary stopped on her way to the car at the unmistakable sound of Francis's voice.

She turned around in time to see Francis running towards her, still looking a little dishevelled. It seemed his royal staff had not had the time to dress him up for this departure. Mary felt a strange flood of relief wash through her. She hadn't even been sure that Francis would say goodbye to her today.

He reached out to take her hands as he approached. He still looked a little nervous to be around her, and the idea made Mary blush, too. "Mary," he whispered, now that they were standing close to one another. "I'm so sorry I can't go back to Scotland with you today…" He really sounded like he meant it, too.

"Francis, it's fine," said Mary, although she definitely didn't feel fine. This last-minute change of plans felt very unfair, especially when Mary knew that she would be returning to face a very difficult week. Since their kiss, Mary had felt an unfamiliar but overwhelming need to keep Francis Valois by her side.

Yet, as Catherine would say, as a royal, it was not her place to complain-duty would always come first for royalty. If she married Francis, she would have to get used to him not always being there for her when she needed him.

"I heard about your brother's wedding," said Francis in another whisper. His voice might have sounded soft, sympathetic, but still Mary felt her body snap back to high alert at those words. She was already dreading her first encounter with James when she got back. "I'll take a flight back to Scotland tomorrow," he said. His words sounded almost like a promise.

Mary studied Francis's face. His expression looked sincere. Mary could only hope that he would keep to his word; that nobody would intervene and force him to break this promise.

Francis must have noticed the pained look on her face, because he seemed to be scrambling for a change of subject. He looked her up and down, smiling a little.

Mary had decided not to change out of her pink dress for the flight home. The castle's staff had offered her several more practical outfits to change into, but Mary had refused them. She hadn't been able to bring herself to change out of the dress that she had worn during her first kiss with Francis.

For a moment, Francis's eyes lingered on the ribbon tied around Mary's neck-it seemed that the key, the ring and the house charm were now fully visible-and his expression clouded. His eyes remained fixed for a little while on the wooden ring, his expression suggesting that he recognised it from somewhere…but then he seemed to regain his composure. "You look beautiful," said Francis, and Mary couldn't help but smile when she saw that he looked a little flustered.

Without thinking about it, Mary made the first move and took a step closer to Francis so that she could be the one to initiate a kiss this time. She needed to feel his lips on hers again, one more time before they departed.

Luckily, Francis kissed her back.

Mary felt a small thrill at the thought that the king and queen were probably witnessing this moment from the castle windows.

Everything would be twice as complicated now that she and Francis had added kissing into the mix, Mary was well aware of this fact, but still she couldn't help but enjoy the moment.

Finally, they broke apart. Sadly, Mary felt like the kiss only made it harder to walk away. Still, she tried her best to keep her head held high as she took the final steps towards the car. She would have to accept the consequences of sharing kisses with an heir to a throne.

As the car began its slow journey down the driveway, Mary couldn't help glancing back several times to look at Francis, who was standing by the doors, watching her go.

She tried to ignore the fact that Henry was still standing at the first-floor window, smirking at her as she left. His expression suggested that he had some sort of nasty surprise up his sleeve for when she got back home. Mary sighed. Perhaps it was not Catherine who she should be worried about after all.

* * *

Mary sat by herself on the private jet as it made its way across the skies back to her home country.

In the relative privacy of the far corner of the plane, Mary was finally alone with her thoughts again for a little while.

In spite of her worries about James, and Kenna, and Francis, Mary couldn't help getting lost in her memories as she stared out of the window of the private jet. She allowed herself to fall back into the memory of the day under the tree with the white petals, back when she and Francis were children-a memory that had only opened up to her after her kiss with Francis.

In her mind, she kept walking through the trees on that same day during her childhood. Now that the memory had opened up to her, she was starting to see everything more clearly.

Later that day, she had been heading back towards the castle when she had stumbled upon her mother lying on the ground, unconscious among the trees. Her mother must have been out in the grounds, looking for Mary and Francis, perhaps to tell them that dinner was about to be served, before she had collapsed. Mary hadn't known it back then, but that moment had marked the beginning of the long illness that her mother would have to face for many years.

Mary remembered how she had been so frightened at the time, seeing her mother like that. That was why the memory of that particular day had closed itself off to her; she had been so traumatised by what she had seen in the moments after her time with Francis.

It was painful, even in the present moment, to relive that memory, but now Mary felt strangely in control, facing her memories head on. She finally felt like she had a clearer picture of her past.

For the last few minutes of the flight, she allowed herself to get lost in happier memories-kissing Francis under the tree with the petals falling gently on their heads; dancing with Francis in Paris; proposing to Francis as a child-she had loved him back then, of course she had, how could she have forgotten?

* * *

The skies were grey when the plane touched down on Scottish soil. Mary couldn't help thinking that this was strangely fitting.

Then there was barely any time to think as Mary was rushed from the plane across the airfield and to a waiting car as the rain started to pour down.

As the car made its way back through the Scottish countryside in the direction of the castle, Mary noticed that extra police cars and moody-looking security guards were lining the streets, adding to the general gloomy atmosphere. It seemed that Scotland had stepped up its security. The whole country seemed to be preparing itself for some sort of battle.

* * *

Mary hadn't exactly expected a welcome-back party, but the castle felt strangely empty when she arrived.

She dismissed her team of staff from their duties for the day and then she walked aimlessly through the corridors for a while, trying to look for any clues about upcoming events in Scotland. Yet she was greeted only by empty rooms and an almost deafening silence.

Eventually, Mary gave up and headed to her bedroom. She decided that she was only imagining the sound of footsteps and whispers that seemed to follow her all the way to her room.

* * *

Her room looked exactly as she had left it. It was almost as though it had no idea how much had changed over the past few days.

Still, there was something warm and comforting about being back in a familiar place, especially when Mary noticed that the castle's team of staff had left tea and snacks for her on the little wooden table in the centre of the room.

With a shrug, she sat down at the table and started to pour herself a cup of tea.

Mary had just helped herself to a slice of cake when she was startled by the sound of knocking on the door.

Mary looked up from her plate of food, half expecting her brother to be at the door, but to her surprise, when the door opened, it was her mother standing in the doorway.

"Mary," the queen of Scotland greeted her with a curt nod.

Mary sat still in silence, taking in the queen's appearance. Her mother looked weak, and frail. Her complexion was pale, and she was definitely losing weight. She even seemed a little unsteady on her feet as she walked towards the table in the middle of the room.

Mary was tempted to cry out, "Mother, you are not well!" but she knew that the queen wouldn't appreciate a comment like that. Still, Mary continued to watch her mother suspiciously as she sat down at the empty seat opposite Mary at the table. Her mother hardly ever showed up at her room for a friendly chat.

"How was France?" her mother asked her.

Mary had just started to launch into a robotic-sounding response about French royalty and royal protocol when her mother held up a hand to interrupt her.

"No, Mary," said her mother, her tone somehow both gentle and firm, "I mean _how was France_?"

Mary frowned at her in confusion for a few moments. Was her mother genuinely taking an interest in her visit to France?

"I discovered that the country is more beautiful than I first thought," said Mary with a shrug, unsure if that was the kind of answer that her mother was looking for. She wasn't used to sharing personal stories with her family. Then she talked for a few minutes about the trip to Paris.

Luckily, the queen nodded as Mary spoke. She seemed satisfied with her answer.

"I was thinking," said her mother, after a few seconds' pause, "perhaps you should take a day off from royal duties tomorrow?"

Mary frowned at her, narrowing her eyes in suspicion. Her mother was not known to be generous with giving days off.

The queen ignored Mary's suspicious expression. "After all, you must be exhausted after your visit to France. And we both know how busy the rest of the week will be in the run up to your brother's wedding. I've heard your friend Greer with be in town for a little while tomorrow. You could go out and spend some time with her, and take an afternoon in the castle for yourself, to relax; prepare yourself for James and Kenna's wedding ceremony…"

In spite of her misgivings, Mary nodded in agreement. The idea of spending time with Greer and being excused from royal duties for a day was just too tempting. But still, she couldn't help wondering-was her mother allowing her the time off as a reward for doing her duty in France, or was she trying to push Mary into the background, to keep the focus on James for the foreseeable future?

Mary was about to ask her mother for more details when she noticed that her mother was watching her closely, almost like she was studying her, trying to work something out...

"What has changed about you?" her mother finally asked her.

Mary looked down at herself, almost as though she could find some sort of clue to enable her to answer her mother's question.

"Nothing has changed about me," Mary insisted. Surely her time away in France had not changed her, had it?

Her mother didn't look convinced. She didn't push Mary any further, but she continued to watch Mary through narrowed eyes for the next few minutes as they made small talk about the weather and Mary's flight home from France. Mary was grateful that her mother didn't ask where Francis was. Perhaps she already had her suspicions that Francis wouldn't be returning.

* * *

Finally, her mother left her alone.

Mary knew that she should feel tired after a long couple of days in France, but she felt too restless to take a nap.

For a little while, she paced up and down the room, driving herself crazy with thoughts about Francis, and what he was doing now, and thoughts about her mother, who looked so ill, and her worries about James. What must have been going through his head, when he made the decision to get married at the weekend?

Unable to take the pacing any longer, Mary headed over to her desk. She found her sketch book with its blue cover and its red heart in one of the desk drawers and she opened it up to a blank page.

She started to sketch, her hand working faster than her mind-it was as though a part of her was desperate to put her inner thoughts on paper.

She ended up sketching a picture of herself as she had looked on the night of the attack on the French castle two years ago-wearing her Venetian mask and a black dress and heavy makeup; disguised, mysterious, a smug look on her face that suggested that she knew something that others didn't. It was almost painful for Mary, to sketch a portrait of herself as she was on that night, knowing now the event that lay ahead, but there was something almost cathartic about it, too.

She made a few final adjustments to the sketch, so that she was standing with her hands held up in the air, like a bird in flight…

It was the perfect portrait of a rebel, Mary realised as she held the sketch away from herself and surveyed it.

Mary hadn't planned on adding another sketch to her book after she had finished, but when she noticed the blank piece of paper next to her most recent picture, her hand seemed to act of its own accord and suddenly, she was creating a whole new picture…

She ended up sketching a picture of herself wearing a white lace dress and a tiara. Her hair was up, and there was an almost regal expression on her face. She had a look of her mother, and of James.

In this portrait, Mary was looking out into the distance, as though she was imagining a brighter future; as though she knew exactly what she was doing.

Mary blinked in surprise a few times as she surveyed the finished sketch. Where had that image come from?

Then she looked from one image to the other.

The rebel and the princess. No, the rebel and the queen. Were these true representations of herself? Could she be both? Was the moment about to arrive when she would have to choose between one or the other? Would she have to decide who she really was?

With a sigh, Mary closed her sketch book and locked it away again using the key that she wore around her neck.

She wasn't ready. She wasn't sure if she would ever be ready.

* * *

She spent the rest of the afternoon sitting at her window seat with the old, frayed patchwork quilt that she and James had once sewn together wrapped around her body for warmth.

She had a clear view of the royal grounds from the window. She watched as Lola and Narcisse walked through the gardens. Mary could tell from their body language and their tense expressions that they were in the middle of an argument.

Finally, Lola stalked away from Narcisse, throwing her arms up in the air as she went in apparent frustration, while Narcisse hurried off in the opposite direction.

After that, James and Kenna appeared in the gardens, closely followed by a woman carrying a clipboard who was clearly one of their wedding planners. Mary leaned forward a little, trying to get a closer look at her brother.

James definitely seemed to be putting on a brave face, as he nodded politely while the woman with the clipboard pointed at various parts of the grounds, obviously helping them to plan for a pre-wedding party (an event that was traditionally held in the royal grounds), but Mary noticed that her brother's expression soon soured whenever Kenna and their wedding planner looked away from him.

Every now and again, James seemed to glance in the direction of the wall at the far end of the gardens. It was almost as though a part of him was contemplating jumping over it and fleeing. Mary knew that feeling all too well. She thought about everything that Henry had revealed to her about her brother; all the secrets that he had kept hidden from her for so long. Had James really tried to remove himself from the line of succession a few years ago, or had Henry just been bluffing? Had Mary's mother really refused him, on the grounds that Mary would not be a viable alternative as queen, as Henry had seemed to imply?

Kenna also seemed to be playing her part. She walked around the grounds with her arms linked with James's, smiling up at him whenever any members of staff walked past and glanced at the two of them. But, from a distance above them, Mary could see that Kenna kept looking over her shoulder at Bash, who was working outside, whenever she thought that nobody was watching.

As Mary watched, she felt that all too familiar feeling of emptiness, and loneliness. Thoughts of Francis filled her head.

"I want him to come back to me," she heard herself muttering as she leaned against the glass window, with raindrops gently trickling down the glass pane outside. Mary jumped. Those words both surprised and terrified her.

In the end, she made herself get ready for bed. She pulled her bed covers around herself and fell into a restless sleep.

* * *

The next morning, Mary was woken up by the sound of angry shouts that seemed to be coming from outside.

Slowly, she sat up in her bed, feeling a little disorientated.

She blinked a few times and then stared in the direction of the window. She had left it open before she went to bed, and now she could hear the distant sounds of an argument coming from outside.

She could make out the sound of two male voices, and she could hear them both shouting what sounded like accusations at one another.

Mary couldn't possibly have known what the argument was about, but still a part of her feared the worst.

Cautiously, Mary got up out of bed and took slow steps towards the window.

The moment she looked out the window to see what was going on, she felt like her whole body had frozen to the spot in horror…

Francis had returned to Scotland after all, but Mary had no time to feel joy, or relief.

She had arrived at her bedroom window just in time to see Francis throw a punch at Bash.


	19. Chapter 19

Mary ran down several flights of stairs and through the castle's entrance hall as fast as her legs could carry her, focused entirely on getting outside and into the gardens.

Already, her heart was pounding, and she felt like she was gasping for air, but she couldn't stop. She had to get outside; she had to find Francis and Bash; she had to stop their fight. With every step she took, she felt a deep fear that she was being watched; that a journalist or a photographer would step out of the shadows at any moment to document yet another moment of shame for the royal family.

When she burst through one of the entrance hall's back doors that led out to the gardens, she couldn't help gasping in shock as the cold air hit her-Mary hadn't had time to get dressed in her hurry to get outside to Francis and Bash, and she was still wearing her pyjamas. She had just about managed to put on a pair of slippers and throw the nearest object she could find over her shoulders in an attempt to keep warm-her old patchwork quilt-before she'd sprinted out of her room. She knew that she must look ridiculous, but she didn't care; she had other things to worry about right now.

It didn't take look for her to notice Francis and Bash. They were still fighting, the two of them attempting to throw more punches at each other as they shouted insults. Mary had no idea what had provoked this fight-she wasn't sure she wanted to find out-but she knew she had to put a stop to it before anyone could take any pictures of the event and sell it to the papers.

"Bash! Francis! Stop!" Mary called out as she ran towards them.

The two young men were apparently so engrossed in their fight that they seemed oblivious to Mary's arrival at first. Bash shoved Francis, almost knocking him to the floor until Francis found his footing and tried to shove Bash in return.

Perhaps foolishly, Mary ran in between the two of them, attempting to push them apart. "Stop!" she practically screamed, almost ashamed at how terrified she sounded.

But it was true that she was afraid. There had to be photographers and journalists stationed all over the castle, here to cover James's wedding. Not to mention all of the members of the television crew who were staying in the castle to film the show. If this moment was captured by any cameras, they could all be in serious trouble. Everything was already unstable in Scotland, and Mary had been warned that she was being watched; they could not afford another mistake.

The sound of Mary's voice seemed to get their attention. The two of them paused in their fight and stumbled back from one another, both of them staring at Mary with wide eyes.

Mary locked eyes with Francis. He seemed to be gasping for air, his chest rising and falling rapidly. His hair was dishevelled, and there was a cut on his lip.

 _What a way to be reunited…_ Mary thought to herself with a sigh, as Francis frowned at her, no doubt shocked at the sight of a princess who was wearing pyjamas, wrapped in an old blanket.

For the past couple of days, Mary had felt like she had been in heaven, dancing with Francis in Paris and kissing him under the tree in the royal grounds, with white petals falling gently on their heads. Now, in this moment, she felt very much like she had crashed back to earth.

Francis's momentary shock didn't last long however, and he soon looked away from Mary, and then Bash and Francis were shouting at each other again.

"How dare you try to interfere with this matchmaking process? Francis practically spat at Bash, his voice full of an anger that Mary had never really heard from him before. "Do you _really_ think it was a wise idea to propose marriage, given the current circumstances in Scotland…?"

"And why is that?" Bash retorted, his expression furious. "Does your rank mean that you alone are 'allowed' to marry Mary?"

Mary felt a cold sense of dread as she slowly started to work out what the fight was all about. Henry had said something to Francis about Mary threatening to marry Bash, Mary just knew it. Of course. Why wouldn't he do something to over-complicate things, to pay Mary back for her outburst in his office?

Francis glared at Bash. It seemed like he had wrongly worked out that Bash had proposed to Mary, and Bash seemed quite happy to let him continue to think that.

Henry must have told the story to Francis that way, in order to cause problems between Francis and Bash; in order to put yet another divide between Mary and Francis.

" _Regardless of whether you marry Francis, or Sebastian, you will still be marrying one of my sons…"_

The words that the king had said in his office seemed to echo around Mary's head. What did those words really mean? She had barely had time to think about it. Yet another secret, another lie, another complication.

Francis was shaking his head. "You have no idea about the situation in Scotland; how unstable both countries are right now; all you care about is your own selfish needs!"

Bash was still glaring at Francis. "And all you care about is power, you entitled son of a-"

"Francis! Bash! Please!" said Mary, her voice shaking as their angry words jolted her back to the present moment. " _I_ was the one who suggested the possibility of marriage!" she admitted.

Even as the words left her lips, Mary was sure that she was going to regret them. Francis recoiled as though somebody had slapped him, and a look of…hurt definitely crossed his face.

Mary felt a bit guilty at that reaction. Since their kiss in France, Mary had started to wonder if something _real_ was happening between her and Francis now; if perhaps true, romantic feelings had started to grow. And, perhaps Francis had started to feel the same way. But now, Mary felt like she was throwing all of those moments right back in Francis's face by telling him that she had suggested getting married to Bash.

But Mary could not allow Bash to take the blame for whatever false information King Henry had told his son. Bash had not actually proposed to Mary, yet if he was accused of this, he did not have the luxury of any royal protection like Mary and Francis did. Mary could also not admit that she had been bluffing about marrying Bash, because then Bash might leave the castle for good, and Mary would lose what little leverage she had against the king of France.

Bash looked confused by Mary's words. He opened his mouth as though to ask her something while Francis looked like he was about to demand some sort of explanation from the two of them-

"What is going on here?"

Mary was distracted at the sound of another voice coming from across the gardens.

Bash and Francis paused for a moment as Mary looked over her shoulder to see her brother running towards the three of them.

James stopped right in front of Mary, one hand holding her back as he held his other hand out as though ready to physically stop the fight if necessary. Ever the protective brother, in spite of the look of fury on his face.

Mary had no doubt that he was convinced that she was responsible for this fight; sometimes, it seemed like he only thought she was capable of making a mess of everything. Yet Mary noticed that there was also another look on his face, too; he looked tired, wary; he looked like he was fed up with all of this.

"Francis. Sebastian. I advise you to separate," he said, his tone barely managing to be polite. He could not really order a future king of France around, but the expression on his face suggested that his statement was not a request.

Mary noticed that a few of James's guards were walking around in the distance, watching the scene like they were ready to step in if James could not get a handle on the situation.

With a wary look over at the guards, Francis and Bash took a few steps away from each other.

"Sebastian, go back to work," James mumbled as Francis turned and took rapid steps in the direction of the castle, still taking deep breaths as he went.

A few of Francis's guards were waiting for him just inside the doors, and Mary noticed that there was a distracted look on his face as he headed inside. He seemed to be lost in thought, and he did not give her a backward glance.

"Mary, we're going back inside," James told her in a bossy tone of voice, a look of obvious disapproval on his face at the idea that Mary was outside in the first place, dressed only in her pyjamas.

As James started to lead her in the direction of the door that would take them back into the castle, Mary looked over her shoulder at Bash, who was taking his time walking back towards the stables.

"You don't have to marry him," said Bash as Mary looked him in the eye. "There is always a way out…"

* * *

Mary barely registered where she was going as James led her back through the castle.

It was only as the two of them walked into the television room that Mary started to snap out of the trance that she had been in.

"I have to talk to Francis," Mary said straight away. She wasn't even sure where those words had come from, but she was sure that she hadn't wanted her reunion with Francis after his return from France to go like that. All night she had waited to see if he would return, and now that he was back in Scotland, they had barely said two words to each other, and Francis and Bash had been fighting, and Francis now believed that Mary had proposed to Bash at some point during the matchmaking process…

"Not now, Mary," said James, a hint of irritation in his voice. "The three of you need some time apart to cool off…"

Mary was in too much of a state of shock to offer much protest. She sat down on the nearest sofa, still shivering in spite of the heating in the room, wrapping her patchwork blanket around herself for warmth.

A news report was playing on the television in the room about yet another riot near Edinburgh, but James quickly switched the television off. He asked several staff members who were in the room to go and fetch tea and water for Mary, but Mary had a feeling that he had done this as an excuse to get everybody out of the room.

Within minutes, Mary's mother arrived in the room, dressed smartly in a grey suit, a clipboard in her hand. Automatically, Mary rolled her eyes. Of course, this was going to turn into some sort of 'crisis meeting'. Her mother and her brother would give her a lecture about royal protocol, and then there would be a publicity stunt to smooth things over.

"What was going on outside?" Mary's mother asked her as she folded her arms and frowned at Mary.

"I have no idea," said Mary, trying to keep her expression neutral, her voice monotone.

"Mary," said the queen with a sigh, "Scotland is in dire straits right now; our every move is being scrutinised; the media is trying to dig up dirt to use against us; if that…fight…was about anything other than two young men simply letting off steam after a stressful week then now would be the time to share-"

"How is any of this my fault?" Mary snapped. Within moments, she was on her feet, her expression no doubt furious.

Her mother looked taken aback by Mary's angry words, and Mary couldn't help feeling a little ashamed. She knew that she looked and sounded like a child who was having a tantrum.

In the end, she sighed heavily and sat back down, admitting defeat, this time.

She placed her head in her hands and took a few deep breaths, trying to calm herself down.

When she finally looked up, she noticed that her mother was sitting opposite her, her head in her hands, her body language almost mirroring Mary's.

James stood awkwardly in the corner of the room, looking uncomfortable at having to be in the room with the two of them.

"What has happened?" Mary asked her mother, trying to keep the anger out of her voice.

Her mother sighed. "Putting aside a few disastrous news articles recently, we have political issues at the moment, too. The Scottish Prime Minister will not budge on the budget negotiations, and the English Prime Minister is barely communicating with us. Ideally, I would go to Edinburgh and London for a couple of days to negotiate with them, but with the preparations for the wedding this week, and…other circumstances, there is simply not enough time-"

"I will go," said Mary, without a second's thought for what she was agreeing to.

Her mother raised her eyebrows, looking surprised. "I'm sorry?"

"I will go to Edinburgh, and to London," Mary answered, surprising even herself with those words.

Her mother looked shocked at Mary's suggestion, and James looked very uncertain about the idea of sending his younger sister away to London and Edinburgh in the run up to his wedding. Perhaps he feared that Mary would not return.

Mary's mother seemed to study her for a long time. It was as though she was silently weighing up her options.

"Then that is settled," said her mother, ignoring the way that James was looking at her in wide-eyed shock. "You will go to London and Edinburgh and attempt a political negotiation. You will have one day tomorrow to prepare, and then you will leave the following morning. I can only allow you two full days and one night, and then you must return in time to prepare for your brother's wedding."

Mary nodded in agreement. She knew that the trip would be hard work, and tiring, but a part of her felt relieved at the prospect of getting to go; at being trusted with this task. She knew that she could dismiss this as an offer to make up for the incident that had just happened in the garden, or put this down to the prospect of getting away from the castle for a few days, to avoid a few of the wedding preparations, but another part of her felt the call of responsibility; she really wanted these negotiations to go well; she felt like this visit to Parliament would be some kind of test.

Her mother gave a nod, like the decision was final.

Mary had just dared to allow herself to hope that the matter of Francis and Bash's fight would not be mentioned in light of this recent decision, but then-"

"Of course," said the queen, "we also have a few issues to take care of with regards to the matchmaking show…"

Mary took a few deep breaths, steeling herself for whatever her mother was about to say.

"That behaviour, outside in the castle grounds, was not acceptable, Mary," said the queen, her tone firm, final. "It cannot happen again."

Mary nodded her head, ready to agree to anything so that they could move on from this discussion.

Her mother sighed, and then she shared a look with James, as though the two of them were silently deciding on how much they should say to Mary right now.

"My plan is to continue with the show for as long as possible, perhaps with a little more assistance from your PR team to get things under control again after this morning…but, I also feel it is my duty to share with you," said her mother, now sounding very hesitant, "that a Louis Conde has expressed an interest in dating you…"

Mary shook her head, unable to process what her mother was telling her. She continued to glare at her mother suspiciously.

"In fact," said the queen, "he has put himself forward as a potential suitor for you. His only condition would be that you remove yourself from the matchmaking show before you start to date him…"

"Why are you telling me this?" said Mary, feeling an irrational, unexplained anger starting to boil up inside her. All of the effort, all of the heartache that Mary had gone through, and only for her mother to try to completely change the game just before the last round.

"I am simply giving you options; giving you a _choice_ ," said her mother with an irritated-looking frown. "A possible way out, just like we agreed. We can no longer deny that James will soon be king, and now I need you to consider your own future, too; your own security. I would have thought that you would have been _thrilled_ at the possibility of escaping from the television show..."

 _But why now?_ Mary wanted to scream at her. _Why now, when I am already in so deep? Why now, when my heart is involved in this show, along with my head? Why now, when it is almost too late?_

Her mother held up her hands in what looked like a gesture of surrender. "I am simply offering you an alternative, Mary, should everything with Francis not work out over the next few days. We are all under a lot of pressure with the upcoming wedding, and I cannot afford another humiliation, along with a lost alliance. Conde has a lot to offer; he has political links in London and abroad; he has connections to the British royal family; he has access to money that could be used to aid the crown-"

"Stop. Just stop," said Mary through gritted teeth. She pulled her tattered blanket tighter around her body, as though it could truly offer her any kind of protection; as though she could simply hide away in a patchwork cocoon and emerge when this nightmare was over.

She could not bear this any longer; weighing up men on the basis of their political power and connections and wealth. She could not stand the feeling of weakness at not having this power for herself; she hated that her feelings and her emotions were disregarded, looked down on in this matchmaking game. And, after her kiss with Francis, Mary was not so sure that she could simply put her feelings for him to one side.

Luckily, her mother didn't push her any further. She got to her feet with a sigh (Mary didn't miss her mother's wince of obvious pain as she tried to stand up gracefully), and simply said, "I just want you to think carefully about your options. But for now, go and enjoy your afternoon with Greer. Tomorrow, we will discuss the show, and your visit to Parliament."

"I want to see Francis by the end of today," said Mary quickly, before her mother could leave the room. Her tone of voice was firm, commanding. She did not say out loud that this was a condition of her behaving herself for the next few days, carrying on with the filming of the show and quietly preparing for James's wedding while she played the role of the good little princess who was on a negotiation mission in Parliament, but she was sure that her tone of voice was enough to make this unspoken condition clear.

"I will try to arrange for Francis to speak with you by the end of the day," said the queen. With that, she walked out of the room, leaving Mary and James alone.

"Mary," said James, the second their mother had left, "I think you should accept Conde's offer…"

"What?" said Mary, unable to keep the shock out of her voice.

"This…this matchmaking show, everything with Francis," he said, now sounding slightly hysterical, "it's clear it's not working out."

"And how would you know that?" said Mary as she cast her old blanket to one side and got to her feet, feeling that now all too familiar rush of anger. "You are judging the whole show based on one minor disagreement in the gardens…"

"You and I both know that it goes beyond that one fight," said James, that bossy-older-brother tone back in his voice that had always irritated Mary so much.

Before Mary could say anything else, James sighed and reached for a few documents that were piled up on the coffee table in the room.

As Mary frowned at him, still feeling confused, James handed over several pieces of paper to her.

With shaking hands, Mary looked down to see a few printed-out news articles, all of them focused on last night's Diplomat Ball in France, the ball that Catherine had thought it was so important for her son to attend.

There were pictures of the event in every news article, and almost every picture seemed to feature Francis and Olivia, standing close together, smiling as they posed for the photographers.

Mary felt her hands begin to shake. The pages in her hands might as well have gone up in flames, because Mary felt like she would get burnt if she held them for too long.

"This is nothing," said Mary as she put the pieces of paper back down on the coffee table, glad to finally get them out of her hands. "This is just another one of Catherine's games, designed to get to me, to keep me away from her son…"

Mary felt like she was trying to convince herself more than she was trying to convince her brother. Rationally, she knew that Catherine had been planning on doing something devious like this as soon as Mary was out of France and far away in Scotland, but still, it hurt, seeing Francis in photos with another woman so soon after Mary and Francis had kissed goodbye yesterday afternoon. But she could not let that hurt show on her face; especially after so many people had warned her that this was one of the perils that came with dating a prince.

"Regardless of whether this has been set up by Catherine," said James, his expression agitated, "I think you should take this as a clear message, Mary; Francis is still considering other options; the French royal family are still making plans in case this matchmaking process does not work out, and I think that it would be wise for you to do the same."

Mary shook her head, trying and failing to push her anger down. "Why are you and Mother doing this to me now, James?" she asked, struggling to keep her voice level. "After you both practically forced me into this show; after you have barely allowed me any breathing space for weeks, let alone any possibility of escape, and now all of a sudden you want me to forget any of it ever happened and just walk away from all of this, from the show, from my life as a royal?!"

Mary felt furious tears well up in her eyes, but she fought them down. She could not cry, not now; not when she was so angry.

"Mary," said James as he watched her with wide eyes, before he shook his head. "I am doing you a favour in allowing a match with Conde!"

Mary sighed to herself as James continued to talk, feeling a sense of despair wash over her. James didn't get it. He was never going to get it…

" _I_ am taking on the burden of an arranged marriage and an unstable kingdom," he continued, "but now _you_ don't have to!"

Mary watched him, horrified. There was almost a crazed look in her brother's eyes. It seemed that the pressure was truly getting to him.

"Mother was right-you should be happy at the chance of a way out of all of this. Accept Conde's offer; remove yourself from the show and an arranged marriage; get away from the constraints of life in the castle, Mary, and…and save yourself from this mess!"

"You don't understand!" Mary finally screamed at him, unable to hold back her anger any longer. "How could you _possibly_ understand?"

James jumped, and then an expression of shock, or maybe even horror crossed his face. Mary _never_ shouted at him like this; her angry outbursts were always saved for her parents. For years, there had been an unspoken agreement between sister and brother that they were in this mess together; that they had to defend each other against everyone else in this strange world of theirs. For all of their minor disagreements, Mary had never pushed things too far with her older brother. But all of that was over now. Mary could feel something break between the two of them as they glared across the room at each other. They might as well have been standing miles apart; already, they were standing in two different worlds.

"You have no idea about love, or feelings, or emotions, James! You only care about pretending to do what is right while you sneak around Scotland and France, keeping secrets!"

Mary hadn't wanted to say any of this to James, but now she couldn't hold back her words.

"What are you talking about?" said James, his look of irritation only goading Mary further.

"You think you will be such a hero," Mary practically snarled at him, "marrying Kenna and taking the crown-a crown that you don't even want, with a woman you do not love! But then what will you do, James? Throw you own sister out of her home? Allow all of Scotland to judge me for failing to find love on their television show? Swan around Paris with your mistresses behind your wife's back as you gamble your country into more debt?"

Almost as soon as the words were out of her mouth, Mary almost wished that she could take them back. But it was too late. The damage had been done.

The look of horror on James's face suggested that Henry had been completely right in all of the secrets he had so maliciously shared with Mary about her brother.

"Get out," said James, turning away from Mary, like he couldn't stand to look at her right now.

"Gladly," said Mary, still trying to keep what was left of her dignity as she turned on her heel and stormed out of the room, leaving the old patchwork blanket behind on the sofa; the blanket that Mary and James had once sewn together was now so frayed that Mary was sure it was damaged beyond repair.

* * *

Mary almost felt relieved at being able to escape the confines of the castle at midday.

As she took slightly unsteady steps down the castle's front drive, in the direction of the large front gates, she tried to ignore the fact that her hands were still shaking, and her breathing still felt heavier than normal.

Yet, as she headed through the tiny village not far from the castle, on her way to meet her best friend, she decided that she was going to try to forget the morning's events, at least for the next few hours, anyway, and she was instead going to pretend that she was just a typical eighteen-year-old girl. She had even dressed in casual clothes this afternoon-black jeans and boots and a red jumper, with her hair tied up loosely into a bun, trying to look as 'normal' as possible. In fact, if it hadn't been for the team of castle guards who were following her from a short distance away, Mary would almost have passed for just another teenage girl who was strolling through the village.

* * *

She shivered as she entered the village; she wasn't sure if it was due to the cold weather, or the strange, tense, atmosphere that seemed to be in the air today. A lot of people were talking in low voices, averting their eyes from Mary and her guards, or looking down at the ground as they hurried along past her. Mary wasn't sure if she was imagining it, but everybody seemed to have something to hide.

When she finally spotted Greer, who was waiting for Mary outside the local village pub, Mary was more than happy to see a familiar face.

"Greer!" she shouted as she abandoned all royal protocol and ran towards her friend to hug her.

"Mary, it's so good to see you!" said Greer as she hugged her back.

For the first time all day, Mary was actually able to smile, even though her smile felt a little forced after everything that had happened in the morning.

She couldn't help noticing however that Greer looked a bit sad. Mary was almost afraid to ask her friend if anything was wrong.

Instead, she settled on asking her friend where she wanted to go to get something to drink. Greer simply shrugged and told Mary that she could choose. And so, Mary started to lead her in the direction of the one place she knew very well in the village.

Greer seemed amused by Mary's choice of the local village pub. She giggled as she looked at the large Scottish flag, and the old paintings, and the groups of older men who were huddled around tables, playing poker.

As Mary led Greer towards a table near the back of the room, she spotted Narcisse, who was back at the pub again, talking in hushed tones with a group of men. He only managed a quick nod at Mary as she walked past his table, but Mary continued to watch him suspiciously for a few moments. Why was he here again, acting so secretive? What had his recent argument with Lola been about?

For about half an hour, Mary managed to enjoy her drinks with Greer in relative peace. They laughed and joked about their school days and life in London while Mary tried her best not to think about Francis and Bash's fight in the gardens, or her argument with James, or the photos of Francis and Olivia that were no doubt all over the Internet by now…

A few times, Greer tried to ask Mary what was wrong, but Mary brushed off her questions, putting her guard up, the way she always did.

Eventually, Greer's expression grew serious. "Mary," she said, "Aloysius has been offered a presenting job at a top television studio in London…"

"Greer!" said Mary with a smile. "That's wonderful news!" Mary knew from listening to the kind of people who her mother spent time with that television jobs in London were lucrative; Aloysius and his family would have the benefit of the financial security that went with that kind of job.

"It is good news, isn't it?" said Greer with a smile. "However, it means that it would be more practical for us to relocate to London. Aloysius and I are planning on moving there with the children…after he has finished his final filming for your brother's wedding, and the last episode of the matchmaking show, of course."

"Oh," said Mary, as her smile faltered a little.

Of course, Mary should have anticipated that this would happen. It made sense, for Aloysius to relocate to London, to be close to work, but still, now that Greer was saying it out loud, it made it all seem so real. Greer would be moving permanently to London. Even further away from Mary than she was now. Over the past couple of years, it had been difficult for Mary to see Greer when she had been living in Scotland; but with her living in England, Mary was sure that she would see her even less. Not to mention that Greer's words had just reminded Mary that Aloysius was waiting to film the finale of the matchmaking show; that the country was still waiting for Mary's decision on who she wanted to marry, and soon.

"Greer, I'm so happy for you," said Mary, as she tried her best to smile at her concerned-looking friend.

Mary was thrilled for Greer, she really was, but still she felt like she was putting on a brave face as they finished their drinks. With her brother not talking to her and her best friend moving away, Mary now felt an almost overwhelming sense of loneliness.

* * *

In spite of everything, Mary tried to spend an enjoyable afternoon with Greer. They walked around the village, talking and gossiping the whole way about Mary's visit to Paris with Francis, calling into some of the shops with royal guards in tow, and stopping at a few more pubs and coffee shops for drinks as Greer showed Mary pictures of some of the houses she had been looking at in London.

All too soon, the afternoon was over, and Mary and Greer stood on the outskirts of the village to say their goodbyes.

"I'll see you at the wedding on Saturday," Greer whispered in Mary's ear as she hugged her, serving as a painful reminder to Mary that they would all be attending James's and Kenna's wedding in a matter of days.

* * *

Almost reluctantly, Mary started to walk back in the direction of the castle, with her guards still keeping a reasonable distance as they walked behind her.

A few groups of people passed Mary as she walked towards the village signpost. They were all walking close together, their heads bowed as though they had something to hide.

As usual, Mary watched them all curiously from a short distance away. She noticed that a few people in the group had their sleeves rolled up, no doubt to cool down now that the weather was starting to get a little warmer.

Mary's attention was drawn to a few of the tattoos that were currently visible on the arms of some of the men in the group. She squinted, trying to work out what exactly the tattoos were.

She could make out the heads of birds, and a few wings, spread out on bare skin as though facing towards the sky…

Birds in flight…

Suddenly, something in her mind clicked into place.

" _Mary, that's a rebel symbol…"_ Bash had told her.

Mary took off at a run, determined to get back to the castle as quickly as possible. She ignored her guards, who kept asking her why she was running.

* * *

Mary took determined steps towards her mother's office. She wanted to shout, to throw the door open, but she knew that that sort of behaviour would get her nowhere-she could not appear to be irrational, in light of what she had just discovered.

Instead, she settled on knocking on the door almost frantically several times, waiting until her mother called out, "Enter!" before she went in.

Mary was only mildly surprised to see that her father was also in the office today, siting behind the desk and apparently helping his wife with her paperwork.

An expression of concern crossed his face as Mary walked towards the desk.

"Mary, are you all right?" he asked her with a frown, looking like he was only seconds away from offering to make her tea.

"There are rebels, all over the village," said Mary breathlessly, before her father could ask her anything else. Just saying it out loud made the idea seem even more terrifying.

" _You are being watched…"_ that masked person had told her in the dark alleyway.

"I beg your pardon?" said her mother, looking at Mary as though she had lost her mind.

"Rebels," Mary repeated, struggling to compose herself. Perhaps the pressure really had got to her; perhaps she really was losing her mind, seeing things that weren't really there. But for now, she had to assume that everything she was seeing was real. "Here, in the village…so close…I saw them…in groups…by the signpost…"

"Your evidence that these people are rebels?" her mother demanded with a raised eyebrow, apparently not prepared to accept Mary's story just yet.

"I saw their tattoos," said Mary, trying to keep her voice calm, authoritative, even as she realised how strange she must sound. "The bird-in-flight tattoos, on their arms…it's a rebel symbol. Rebels have been plotting against the crown for years, but now there are so many of them, so close; only minutes away, in the village!"

To her surprise, Mary was feeling more than just blind panic right now; she felt a sense of duty, to protect the castle and the crown; to keep her family safe. If there _were_ rebels stationed all over the village, then they would have to do something about defending the castle…

"How do you know what that tattoo represents?" the queen asked her with a frown, ignoring Mary's father's mutterings about how Mary should maybe sit down and get some rest.

"I heard it somewhere," said Mary, trying to sound vague, "or perhaps I read it somewhere, I can't remember..."

 _Why are you doing this?_ a voice in her head seemed to be asking her. _Why are you protecting Sebastian?_

Mary wasn't even sure that she had the answers. How had Bash known what the bird-in-flight symbol meant in the first place? Should Mary not say something to her parents about the fact that he understood this symbolism? Would it look suspicious?

And yet Mary held back. She had a feeling that after his behaviour this morning, Bash was only one step away from being dismissed from his job at the castle. Mary could not be the one who was responsible for somebody losing their job, based on just a theory, a coincidence. Still, she knew that she would have to keep a closer eye on Bash; she would have to find out more about him.

"We should station more guards in the village," Mary suggested to her parents, "bring in extra guards outside the castle…"

"Mary," said her mother as she held up her hand, "I can assure you that even if your theory is correct, the castle is well protected. The guards are working day and night to ensure that we are safe," she continued, before Mary could interrupt her, "and I regularly send guards to patrol the village and the local area. Please try to put this out of your mind-I would suggest that you have other things to worry about at the moment…"

Mary sighed, knowing that it was pointless to argue right now; but still, she could not let this drop. The sight of the bird-in-flight had unnerved her; it was a little too close to home. Even if she had to take action herself, Mary would find a way to increase the castle's protection.

"Mary, said her father, his tone of voice softer, more soothing, "it is still your day off-why don't you go and spend some time relaxing in the television room? In fact, I think an episode of the royal matchmaking show is about to start," he continued with a chuckle, "perhaps you would like to see how all the scenes you are filming are put together-I daresay you could use a laugh…"

Mary didn't have the heart to admit that the last thing she wanted to do right now was to watch herself on a dating show. Her father looked so eager for Mary to head to the television room that Mary suspected there was some sort of hidden agenda on his part.

"I'll walk you there," her father offered.

They both knew that Mary was more than capable of walking to the television room on her own, but Mary had a feeling that her father wanted to talk to her about something, so she nodded in agreement.

* * *

For a few minutes, the two of them walked through the castle hallways in silence. Several members of staff greeted Mary's father with a smile as they passed. Her father was kind, and generous, and he was loved by those who worked at the castle, even though they sometimes laughed at his more eccentric behaviour.

"Your brother," her father finally mumbled as they approached the television room, "he has a lot on his mind right now, Mary; I can only ask that you take that into consideration before you judge him too harshly…"

Mary sighed, but she could not bring herself to argue with her father in the way that she would have argued with her mother. "Fine, whatever," she said, hating that she sounded like a petulant thirteen-year-old.

In truth, the memory of her recent argument with James was already causing her to feel an almost physical pain in her chest.

* * *

The moment she stepped inside the television room, Mary noticed that Francis was in there, waiting by the sofa and looking rather handsome in one of his typical white jumpers and casual trousers, with his wavy hair looking slightly dishevelled, as though it had not been formally styled by his team of stylists this afternoon.

Mary had long since realised that she found Francis especially handsome when he was dressed in casual clothes, but she had too much on her mind to really focus on that right now.

She also tried to ignore the fact that the cut on Francis's lower lip was still visible after his fight with Bash.

When Francis noticed her arrival, he bowed to her.

Mary found it rather odd that Francis was still keeping to royal protocol, in light of everything that had happened between them recently, but still she managed to bow in return.

Mary briefly glanced over her shoulder in time to see her father grin at her.

Mary rolled her eyes at him, but still she nodded, silently letting him know that he could leave the room.

The feeling of relief at having Francis close to her again was almost overwhelming. Mary wasn't sure how or when this feeling had crept up on her. Despite everything, Mary was glad that her father had arranged for Mary and Francis to spend some time together today.

As the door closed gently, Francis started to speak: "Mary, I'm so sorry," he said.

Mary wasn't really sure what to say, or what exactly Francis was apologising for-for fighting with Bash? For agreeing to pose for photographs with his ex-girlfriend at a royal event after he had kissed Mary? A part of her was afraid to ask, so she simply nodded. Feeling a little too nervous to look him in the eye, Mary averted her gaze. Her eyes fell on the television screen, where she noticed that an episode of the matchmaking show was about to start.

It was very strange, to see herself on the screen, to know the backstory behind all of the edited moments they showed on television. Up until now, she had been purposely avoiding watching too much of the show.

On the screen, Mary was walking down the stairs into the castle entrance hall, and she quickly realised that this episode was going to document her visit to France.

Francis seemed to be looking at the television, too. "You always knew how to make an entrance," he muttered as they watched while Mary took her final steps into the entrance hall on the screen, then he looked embarrassed, as though he had just said something he shouldn't have said.

Mary couldn't help smiling, in spite of everything. "Will you watch the show with me?" she asked Francis. She had nothing else to do this evening, and it would be nice to sit down and relax, and she knew it would be something of a novelty, to watch the show as a viewer, to see what the rest of Scotland was seeing.

Francis nodded, and the two of them ended up sitting next to each other on the sofa, watching the episode together.

It was definitely strange, Mary decided, to be seated next to the future king of France, the two of them dressed casually as they watched themselves on the screen. The two of them even started to give a running commentary as they watched each scene play out, talking as though they were merely watching other people's lives on the screen and not their own. Mary suspected that they were both deliberately avoiding talking about other issues. On the other hand, Mary also sensed that this was exactly what they needed to break some of the tension between them.

"He should have held her hand," Mary whispered almost teasingly to Francis as they watched the scene that showed the two of them descending the stairs of the private jet just after the plane had landed in France, with Mary looking a little unsteady on her feet and Francis looking back over his shoulder at her, his body language protective.

"Perhaps he is nervous," Francis replied, surprising Mary all over again, as he often seemed to do.

Eventually, the show focused on their day in Paris. Mary watched as one of the scenes showed her and Francis meeting each other outside in the castle grounds, just before they travelled into the capital city. She hadn't even realised that that moment was being filmed, but it seemed that the camera crew had been filming the gardens from one of the upstairs windows.

"Smooth," Francis muttered with a grin as the scene showed Mary awkwardly asking Francis if he thought that she was under-dressed.

Mary pretended to glare at him from her side of the sofa. She knew that he was teasing her. Mary liked it, when she got to see this side of Francis. She would have laughed along with him, if her head hadn't still been full of images of Francis and Olivia, standing side-by-side last night at the Diplomat's Ball.

" _Very_ smooth," Mary mocked him in return as the next scene showed Mary and Francis in the car with Charles and his 'girlfriend' as they made their way to the station. Francis seemed to be very deliberately looking out of the window and away from Mary as Charles held hands with the little girl sitting next to him.

Mary and Francis continued to watch as the next few scenes showed their time in Paris. Mary had to fight off a blush as she watched the two of them walking around the _Louvre_ gallery together-a look of fascination was written all over Mary's face as she listened to Francis talk about the paintings and the portraits.

Still, she felt almost content as she watched all of their moments together in Paris play out on the screen. She had been so happy with Francis that day, just the two of them, together, away from the castle…

"Will you go to Edinburgh and London with me?" Mary heard herself blurt out during a commercial break.

Francis turned to look at her, a very confused expression on his face, and so Mary was left to explain about the upcoming political visit to the two cities that her mother had agreed she could go on, and she asked again if he would accompany her.

"Are you sure?" Francis asked her, sounding a little uncertain.

Mary could hardly blame him. Things had seemed so perfect, when they had been kissing under the tree in the French royal gardens, but since they had both come back to reality, things seemed to have tilted between them again. Francis's photos from the Diplomat's Ball and the confusion about the alleged proposal between Mary and Bash had placed yet more obstacles between them.

"I'm sure," Mary replied. She wanted Francis by her side; she felt like all of her negotiations would be easier if he was there with her. She knew that she was setting a dangerous precedent by even thinking this (she was afraid to get too comfortable around Francis Valois, in case he decided to leave her at the end of the show), but right now, she wasn't thinking about the future.

And, as unprofessional as she knew it would sound if she said it out loud, a part of Mary really wanted to recreate their time together in Paris.

"Then it is settled," said Francis, as the show started up again and the two of them returned to watching the screen.

Francis was going to London and Edinburgh with her. Mary felt more relieved than she knew it was safe to feel at the moment.

It was only when the show ended and a tense silence seemed to descend on them that Mary decided that she wanted to say something to try to clear the air; she could not bear for the memories of recent events to hang over them while they were in Edinburgh and London together.

"Bash and I used to walk past each other sometimes in the village, before this matchmaking process got started," said Mary, speaking quickly before she could change her mind and deciding that she wanted to be as honest with Francis as possible. "I was always happy to see him, even if it was only from a far; he was a reminder that another life existed outside of the castle. I thought that he was handsome. I was happy, when my brother employed him to work at the castle…"

"Mary," said Francis, "you don't have to do this…"

"I want to do this," Mary insisted. "I still want us to be honest with one another, like we agreed…" As Francis nodded, Mary prepared to continue. She wanted to be honest, but she didn't feel ready to ask Francis about Olivia yet; she wasn't sure if she was ready for Francis to be honest with her in return.

"When he gave me his ring as a gift to wear while I was in France, it seemed like the perfect opportunity to imply that there was some kind of engagement agreed on between the two of us, as a bargaining tool to use in 'negotiations' with your father, and my mother," Mary sighed. "Or a threat, if I'm going to be really honest. But it seems as though it has all backfired…"

Francis nodded, accepting her explanation. Mary couldn't help noticing that he almost looked relieved at the idea that there was no definite engagement agreed on between Mary and Bash.

Still, Mary felt like she was not being entirely honest. At the very least, Francis knew some of the story about the ring that Mary wore on the black ribbon on her neck. She was dreading having to tell him the story of the house charm that she also wore around her neck.

"Still, there is…something between the two of you," Francis eventually muttered. "Some kind of attraction. At first, I tried to pretend not to see it, but it is there…"

"Francis, no," Mary interrupted him, not sure why she was in such a rush to deny what he was saying.

"Mary," he said, his voice softer now. "I'm not judging you for it. It's true I lost my temper with Sebastian, and I was angry with him for trying to interfere with my country's…negotiations, but the reality is that you had little choice in being a part of the matchmaking show; I would be naïve to think that you had no other suitors in your life; I would be foolish to imagine that there would be no other men competing for your hand. We both came into this process with a history…"

Mary felt a prickle of discomfort at Francis's words. Not for the first time, she found herself wishing that they could both leave their history in the past.

Francis went silent for a little while. Mary guessed that he was trying to find a way to put his thoughts into words.

"Although it goes against all royal protocol for me to say this to you," he finally said, still looking like he was debating saying anything at all, "and perhaps I would not have said this, before your visit to France, but when the time comes for you to make your decision, my only hope is that you don't make that decision based on a crown, or a kingdom, or a political alliance, or on what is good for a country…"

"Meaning what?" Mary asked him with a frown, not really understanding what Francis was asking of her, and feeling like something had changed again in the rules of the royal matchmaking show.

"What I mean," said Francis, now looking a little flustered, and like he was struggling to put his thoughts into words, "if you choose me at this end of this process, I would want you to have chosen me based on what is in your heart, and not based on the crown that I have no doubt you will one day wear on your head."


End file.
